A Song of Ghosts and Wolves I: A Game of Specters
by GreyWolf93
Summary: When a mysterious man shows up on Lothal decimating Imperial patrols, the Ghost crew is sent to investigate, with the aim of possibly recruiting him into the Rebellion. What they find is nothing short of shocking; a man returned from the dead by the will of the Force itself. A man whose mission is now to show the Emperor the true meaning of his ancient words: Winter is Coming.
1. Prologue

Lothal was, by most people's standards, your typical settled planet in the Outer Rim Territories; dirt poor, corrupt, and dingy. Granted, this world had never been anyone's idea of an idyllic garden paradise, but before the Clone Wars- or the arrival of the Galactic Empire, rather- the people of this world were, by and large, proud, peaceful, and independent, with small farmers and rural townships making up the majority of the population. But as summer eventually gives way to winter, so too must good times give way to harsh ones.

The war had caused a severe economic recession on Lothal, followed shortly thereafter by various gangs, mobsters, and cartel kingpins swooping in and setting up various narcotic states on the planet, bringing all the ruthless violence of the criminal underworld with it.

But then, the Empire swept in like a storm from space, washing away the gangsters in a tide of durasteel and discipline. The people of Lothal were immensely grateful, willing to accept becoming a subject world of the Empire if it meant the restoration of peace and prosperity to their world.

And the Empire kept their end of the bargain…at first. Roads were improved, cities expanded and thrived, jobs opened up in the new mines and factories, and even an academy for military service was set up.

But underneath this façade of order, security, and prosperity was buried a dark undercurrent of fear, suppression, and economic stratification.

It had begun small enough, not to warrant the attention of anyone save for the wary and the vigilant. There were increased presence patrols, checkpoints, more patdowns and identification requirements; nothing outside the norm for an occupied war zone, but Lothal was supposed to be at peace.

Then, the farms were bought out by major state-run corporations such as Impagri, forcing thousands of farming families from their homes into the slums of cities, where they were forced to take jobs at reduced wages, while the newfound nobility above them- the same crooks that the Empire had forced off the planet in the first place and then invited back in under the guise of reconciliation- bathed in luxury and finery.

Then, the factories and mines began expanding and multiplying, turning Lothal from a once green, forested agricultural world into a polluted industrial slum, churning out steel, fuel, and plasma for the Emperor's war machine and ever-increasing thirst for conquest. Oh sure, there was the occasional Imperial like Minister Tua who had tried to make a positive difference for their homeworld. But the vast majority were liars, thieves, and murderers in Joshua's humble opinion. But all of this wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst parts were violent. Cadets from the local academy, who displayed an unusual amount of prowess and agility, vanished, with the Empire keeping mum about the whole business. When questioned, the Imperials would discredit, bribe, or in the worst cases, abduct and imprison Lothalians on charges of treason, such as the Bridger family. And if the citizens dared protest against any of these policies or the bigotry displayed by many off-world Imperial officers, they usually got beaten, thrown in jail, or outright massacred.

Now, none dare speak up against the Empire, and the tyrants continued to take and take and take until stripping Lothal to the core, all in the name of 'order and security'.

Joshua glumly thought about all of this, sitting in on of Lothal City's many bars and cantinas that served the working population, drinking away his troubles after another day of long, grueling work in the mine. And the more he drank, the angrier he got.

 _Damn faithless Imperials_ , he thought, enraged by the injustice of it all. _What I wouldn't give to see all of those craven bastards off our land, coming back to "His Imperial Majesty" either in coffins or in chains._

The bartender, an Ithorian by the name of Mocho Undana, must have noticed him gripping the empty shot glass so hard that it was starting to crack, as he placed a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring motion.

"Khobba, calm yourself, my friend," Mocho trilled. "You can't make another scene again, not if you want the Imperials giving you another beating."

His old friend looked at him, his eyes begging the disgruntled forty-year-old farmer turned miner not to do anything foolish.

But Joshua was having none of it tonight. The Empire had taken too damned much from him, from his family, from Lothal itself. Maybe he had a bit too much to drink, but so what? So he looked at Mocho straight in the eye and held his ground.

"Fuck. The. Empire," he drew out long and slow, making sure everyone around the bar could hear it. He then jumped to his feet, passionate from a combination of booze and patriotism, and began an inspired speech.

"Before our fathers' grandfathers were born, this was _our_ world! These were our good places; the Force itself lived here, in the trees and the rivers and the mountains. It watched over us, protected us all from evil and chaos. We were happy. We hunted, we fished, we farmed, we loved. We were proud, fierce, and independent! We had families, homes, and good lives."

He looked around the bar. Most of the other Lothalians were nodding in agreement, a few shouting for him to continue on. Some people though, in the back, were quickly making themselves scarce, most likely not wanting to get blamed as associates in case the jackboots of the Empire came kicking down the door. Joshua cared not for these cravens; Lothal's true sons and daughters were in this room, with him.

"But sometimes, my brothers, we must fight! The Empire disturbs and makes a mockery of the sacred Force. They burn the forest, pollute our skies and rivers, level our mountains to make their pits! They take what is ours; wives, children, land, Lothal itself! And the Imperials talk about how they will _help_ us and _protect_ us. They put us to sleep with credits and promises, and when we awake, all we have is gone! STOLEN! They take our sons and daughters and turn them into little Imperials, slaves to the Emperor's corrupt will!" he spat, to the cheering of the men around him, failing to take notice of the stormtroopers who had entered the building and were watching him with deadly intent. "So we must fight to keep what is ours, _what must stay ours!_ There can be no peace! No peace with Imperials, men of stone and steel and lies. There can be only WAR! War until the cravens withdraw from our land, never to return! War until-,"

Joshua never got to finish his speech, as he felt himself being hit in the side of the head with the butt of an E-11 blaster carbine, disorienting him as two troopers tackled him to the ground. He could barely make out the officer commanding them yelling at the other patrons to return to their homes immediately, or else, as he was dragged out the back door and thrown into the street, landing face first onto asphalt, dimly lit by the twilight glow of dusk.

"You've caused us one too many problems in the past, Joshua Khobba," The officer, a thin pompous prick of a captain from Coruscant stated as he motioned to the sergeant and two privates to bring Joshua to his knees, which they did so roughly. "Ignoring curfew, disrupting speeches, rabble-rousing, etc, etc."

"Minor crimes, you stuck up shit-bag," Joshua spat.

The captain frowned, motioning again to the sergeant to take position behind the man.

 _So this is how it ends._ Joshua thought grimly. _Shot to death in a gutter by an Imperial stooge and his lackeys._

"Unfortunately for you, Lothrat," the Imperial snapped, spitting out the derogatory name like he was calling Joshua 'vermin'. "You've been imprisoned multiple times for those violations, all to no avail it seems. So we will teach your comrades a lesson instead; when they watch your corpse swaying in the breeze on their way to the mines."

"So you believe."

Everyone turned toward the source of the mechanized voice, which came from the north end of the alley. The stranger who spoke looked like a demon; he was covered from head to toe in pitch black armor, his face covered by an enclosed helmet with a faceless polarized visor. On his chest was emblazoned a snarling grey wolf's head, and on his hip, he carried some sort of sword. Judging by the make, Joshua guessed it to be some sort of Mandalorian steel sword, though the stranger certainly didn't look like one of the _Mando'ade_. In his hands, he carried an old DC-15s carbine, modified for anti-personnel use.

"Oh, give me a break, _bounty hunter,_ " the captain turned to face the armored man, clearly frustrated at the turn of events. "Keep your nose out of our business."

"I would have if you boys had conducted yourselves in a more honorable and forthright manner. For example, taking this man to court, in front of a jury of his peers, and presenting the lawfully obtained evidence that would lead to said jury declaring him guilty and finding a punishment that fit the crimes- that I would not have interfered with. This, however, I cannot let slide." The stranger said, clicking the safety of his rifle to the off position. "Now, I'm feeling generous tonight, and will tell you to leave this man alone."

"If we don't?" the captain asked, clearly incensed, as the five stormtroopers around him took positions.

"Then I'll stop talking, get angry, and cut through all six of you like I was carving a cake."

The captain laughed haughtily at this threat. "Surely you joke? One man against five of the Emperor's finest and an officer of His Majesty's Army? I've think you've overestimated your chances." He motioned to the stormtroopers, who raised their rifles toward their foe.

"Then come," was all the stranger said, as he reached in one of his pouches for something.

The troopers advanced steadily toward the armored man, his hand now behind his back.

Suddenly, a flash of bright light blinded Joshua, which was coupled with a deafening, high-pitched noise. He vaguely heard the sounds of blaster fire, some of it from the stormtroopers' carbines, but six of the shots were from the stranger's weapon. When the noise and light subsided, Joshua stood up and surveyed the carnage.

The five troopers lied dead on the ground, blaster burns each going through their skulls, while the armored man remained unscathed; his helmet's filtration systems must have blocked out all noise and light, Joshua deduced.

The officer was also on the ground, though he was now trying to drag himself away, as he was shot in the hip. The armored stranger noticed this, clamped his carbine onto a magnetized slot on his back, drew his sword, and advanced toward him. The Imperial hadn't gotten very far when the stranger stopped him by placing a boot on his chest, and his sword to his throat.

"P-please, ss-sir. H-have mu-mu-mercy!" the Imperial whimpered, having lost all his earlier hubris and bravado.

 _Typical Imperial coward. Tough when bullying the common folk, but when stood up to and beaten he cowers like a beat dog_.

"Why should I show you mercy, viper?" the armored man coolly chided. "You didn't want to show any mercy to that man over there." He indicated to Joshua. "As a matter of fact, you wanted to make an example of him."

"I-I'll pay you! Most handsomely, I might add! Just please let me live!" the captain begged, while a puddle of liquid beginning to form underneath his trousers, much to Joshua's amusement.

"I should kill you just for pissing yourself, craven snake," the man snapped. "But it just so happens, I will let you live, but not for your sake. Rather, I want you to deliver a message."

It was at this the man reached with his free hand, clicked a button that unsealed the helmet, and took it off, setting it on the street, and giving Joshua a good look at the face of the man who saved him.

He looked in the prime of his life, in his late twenties or early thirties. A short beard covered his face, and his hair was a deep shade of red, bordering on brown. But the thing that stood out most to Joshua was his eyes.

Joshua once reckoned those blue eyes were once warm, inviting, and full of life, but now they were cold, lifeless, and distrusting.

It honestly made his savior seem more beast than man, truth be told.

The stranger looked back down upon the Imperial, who was looking back into the eyes of a hate-filled killer, and spoke ever so calmly, his accent almost sounding Kuati to Joshua's ears.

"Tell your masters that their tyranny over the free peoples of this galaxy will not last forever. Tell them…that winter is coming for them, and that I'm going to find out if the Emperor really does piss lightning."

The Imperial looked grateful, and as the strange man lifted his boot off of him, the captain scurried away back to his patrol car, still limping all the way.

Joshua figured it was as good as time as any to thank the stranger, so he called out to him just as he was picking his helmet off the ground.

"Wait, sir!" he called out. "I wanted to thank you before you left. I'll never forget what you've done for me."

"Not necessarily for you," the man muttered under his breath. "It was more for your family that depends on you. Did you not once think that your little protest in there would land you unwanted attention? It may not have been you the Empire went after, but your wife and son! Think for once!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Joshua asked him in frustration. "Watch as the Empire stripped more and more of our lands and rights away from us? Watch them mold Benjamin into their little lackey?"

"No," the stranger affirmed. "But you also need to know _when_ to fight. Only when you hold the advantage should you even attempt to fight these dogs."

"When should we fight, then?" Joshua asked, now tired and feeling alone. "We can't coordinate well enough without ISB agents intercepting our communications."

"The wolves always find a way to communicate, even as the lion keeps them down," the stranger reassured. Before he turned to walk off, Joshua had to know something.

"Wait, stranger. I never even asked you for your name."

The stranger stopped at this. "My name? I have many names, my friend. To my foes in the Empire, I am known as the Grey Wolf; a thorn in the side of the Emperor and his minions. In my younger days, I was a great king of men, though unknown to the galaxy at large, known as the Young Wolf. The nascent rebellion knows me as Blaviken."

"Your real name, then," Joshua asked one more time. "I will tell no one of its existence, not even my family."

"Swear it," the stranger commanded.

"I swear it by the Force and whatever god may be," Joshua affirmed.

The stranger relaxed a little, and for a moment, Joshua could see the light return to the Grey Wolf's eyes.

"My real name is Robb Stark."

* * *

 **Hello, everyone! This will be another story I'm working on the side, as the latest chapter of I &F: T W is still halfway to completion (I've got the generalities lined out, just need to polish it some.)**

 **Now, this will be a minor crossover story, yet I am posting it to the main Star Wars Rebels page, and is my answer to "Northern Goddess". It will feature, for my fans, a lot of blood, violence, swearing, and MAYBE some tasteful sex scenes.**

 **This little idea popped into my head after my other side fic just wasn't going anywhere (I couldn't figure out a plotline that didn't involve my protagonist upstaging canon characters). It will follow canon to a certain point, after which it becomes massively AU.**

 **Until the next time!**


	2. Sabine I

The rays of dawn were just beginning to creep through the windows of the already busy _Maccabees'_ , a successful restaurant owned and managed by the Maccabee brothers, Judah and Jacob, in the fairly modest sized town of Jericho, but that's not what was concerning Sabine Wren right now; what had her concentration was the man scheduled to meet her here for a 'date', or in more precise terms, an extraction from this pitiful ball of dirt to meet with Commander Sato onboard the _Quasar Fire_ -class escort carrier _Phoenix Home_.

Sato had been very specific about whom the mission was focused on; one armored, armed, and dangerous man, codenamed 'Blaviken' by the Rebellion, whom apparently had been in contact with Ahsoka for several years now, feeding her information on Imperial troop movements and operations on the planet.

And now, he wanted off Lothal.

Apparently, according to the transmission, his cover had been blown somehow. He did not give the specific details of how, why, when, and where this happened; all he would say is that he needed to get to the _Phoenix Home_ ASAP.

Sabine took a sip of her caf, re-tucking a loose strand of dyed orange-red hair behind her head. All in all, this man sounded very mysterious. No one, not even Bail or Ahsoka, knew what this guy even _looked_ like, let alone his real name.

Sabine smirked. Of course, if it turned out that Ahsoka really did know this man, it wouldn't have been the first time she had kept information to herself.

Just then, the door to the restaurant swung open, and a human male stepped through, wearing nothing but blue jeans, a long, grey shirt, combat boots, and a pistol strapped to his right side; a modified SE-14r, to be more precise. He was a full grown adult in the prime of his life, looking to be around 30 to Sabine, with a pale complexion that indicated that he was from a world with a colder climate, and had the facial hair to match such a description. His hair was a very dark shade of red; his hair was wine as opposed to Sabine's fire. His eyes were a brilliant blue, but unlike Ezra's, they did not show any warmth, curiosity, or friendliness to them. No, these eyes were cold sapphires, hardened and distrusting of everything they saw.

A waiting-droid had come up to the man and asked him where he would like to sit. The spacer indicated to the seat across from Sabine's, obviously recognizing her in some way.

The Mandalorian tensed up a little. Either this could be her contact, or he could be another ISB agent like Kallus. Either way, her right hand found itself itching toward one of her twin WESTAR-35 blaster pistols she kept on her at all times, though she was fairly certain that Zeb was also keeping track of the man through the sights of his bo-rifle.

The stranger came to sit across from her, waving away the waiting-droid with a simple order for caf when the robot tried to pester him. Sabine now got a good look at the man who was staring at her with his distrusting eyes.

His face was grim and foreboding like he was expecting the onslaught of disaster, whether man-made or natural. Beyond that, his face was stone, not showing an outward hint of emotion to her.

"Hello, Pulsar. It's so nice to finally meet you. The weather on Lothal is quite lovely this year, you know," the man greeted in what sounded like a rich Kuati accent.

Sabine felt herself relax a little and put her hand back on the table. _He gave the code phrase, good._

"Indeed, Blaviken. And I heard the wine in this town is simply delicious," she replied, smiling and secretly giving him the counter while also signaling to Zeb and the others that the contact has been met.

Blaviken lowered his voice. "So it is you. Good, I was starting to wonder if Fulcrum even got my message, or if this was an Imperial trap," he whispered as he looked over his shoulder, appearing to look out the window. As far as either of them could tell, no Imperial patrols were coming through; most likely the company that was stationed here was just waking up and beginning their morning physical exercises, per Imperial SOPs.

Sabine smirked. "You've got the genuine article here, bucko. So tell me; why do you want to get off this dreary rock?"

Blaviken took a sip of his caf before answering. "Do you want the short and simple version or the long and detailed one?"

"I prefer short and to the point, please," Sabine replied. Sato could hear the full mission report later if he wanted to.

Blaviken looked at his caf cup for a moment before answering. "Two reasons. The first is my own damned fault. I blew my cover about a week ago while rescuing some poor sap of a miner from getting blasted by a particularly abusive Imperial Army captain."

Sabine's curiosity piqued. "How?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

Blaviken waved it off. "I'll tell you the details later. Suffice to say for the moment that I was careless, and in this line of business, stupidity can cost you." He looked down back at his caf cup and muttered so low that Sabine could barely make it out. "But betrayal can cost you even more."

Now she was _really_ curious. What had happened to this man to make him so sullen and distrusting of everyone around him? Sure, the crew and she had faced their fair share of betrayals and tragedies in the past, but the way this man spoke and acted, it was as if he lost absolutely _everything_ around him. Before she could inquire him about it, he continued.

"The second reason should be more important to the Rebellion." He took another sip of his caf. "I've acquired information from some of my contacts in the Imperial Armed Forces and the Mining Guild. I can't tell you everything here, but rest assured…the things I've learned could change the very nature of the war itself."

"Intriguing." Sabine took a sip of her own caf. "You sure you can trust these contacts?"

Blaviken shook his head. "I don't trust anyone, not in the way I used to, at least. So no, I can't be sure, but if nothing else the information they gave me would be worth investigating."

Sabine nodded and stood up. "Alright. Let's get out of here, then."

Blaviken wiped his mouth and put ten credits on the table before standing up as well. "We need to retrieve my gear, first. It's in a safe house five clicks south of here. We'll also need to destroy said safehouse to prevent the contents inside it from falling into Imperial hands." He then looked out the window before walking out the door. "And could you please tell the Lasat to stop aiming his rifle at me? Even when he's trying to hide on a rooftop, I can still notice his kind."

Sabine was flabbergasted, letting her mouth drop open in bewilderment as Blaviken walked out the door.

* * *

It was an uneventful five-minute journey by 'borrowed' speeder to Blaviken's safe house, which was an unassuming log cabin; small, cozy, and unlikely to attract any Imperial attention, least of all from the rather subpar 15th Legion stationed on Lothal. Joining them on this little trip out to the middle of nowhere was Zeb, who was taking it about as well as she'd expect.

"Stupid karking piece of kriff-bait," she heard him mutter under his breath. "Why are we out here, again? Last time I checked, we are wanted in this system by the order of Governor Pryce for the crimes of sedition, sabotage, treason, the murder of Imperial officials, theft, and a hundred other things I'm sure they've drummed up."

The young Mandalorian woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, big guy, I'd rather not be out here either, especially as I am now without my _beskar'gam_. But since Kanan, Ezra, Chopper, and Ahsoka went on that little trip of theirs to Malachor, we three got the go-ahead for this mission instead. And I'd rather not get an earful from Hera again about 'our duty as freedom fighters' today, so let's just get this done with, ok?"

Zeb said nothing, only grumbling under his breath as Blaviken went inside the safehouse.

"Relax, you two. I just need to put on my armor and weapons, grab the intel, and set a few plastic charges down so the Imps can't grab anything of import later. Just keep pulling security and I'll be out in a moment."

Zeb muttered something under his breath as he got down on one knee and began to scan his sector, while Sabine walked to the other side of the cabin and began to do the same.

She had never really thought about it before, but in between her missions, her paintings, and generally everything else that came with being a soldier in a rebellion with the goal of freeing her homeworld, and the galaxy at large, from a tyrant and his lackeys, but she really never noticed how _colorful_ Lothal could be.

The morning sky was a rich azure blue, the golden sun shining upon amber waves of grain and green ears of corn. The dazzling white snow on top of the mighty grey mountains to the distant north made a stark contrast to the vibrant green and brown forest that made up its base; one of the last of its kind on this world, she mused sadly. The tall sandstone spires, ancient, tan, and worn from millennia of abuse by the elements, stood as imposing rivals to the grey, utilitarian, and looming structures favored by Imperial architects, and yet Sabine figured that long after the Empire was gone from this world, whether in five years or a thousand, those natural spires would remain while the colorless, sentient-built structures collapsed.

Sabine shook herself out of her musings. This was neither the time nor the place to admire the beauty of nature. Right now she still had to extract the target from the planet, which, truth be told, was actually going rather well, if not as quickly as she would have hoped.

Just then, her comlink began beeping at her, indicating Hera wanted to contact them, _now._

Sabine cursed under her breath in Mando'a before answering the call. This wasn't a scheduled comm check, which occurred at hourly intervals. No, this had to be urgent.

"Specter 1, 5. How copy, over?"

"Specter 5, 1. Be advised, I'm tracking multiple hostiles closing in on your position, bearing down from the south, over."

 _Haar'chak!_ "Specter 1, 5. Foot mobile or technical, over?"

"5, 1. A couple of Indigos, assume to carry 10 foot. One Petro also confirmed. ETA till contact approximately five mikes; I can make it in six, over."

Sabine grimaced. They didn't have the firepower to take on two Imperial Troop Transports, a full fire section of stormtroopers, and a gunship at the same time.

"Roger, 1. We'll be ready for a quick exfil out. 5 out."

With that, she ended the transmission and yelled back to Zeb and Blaviken.

"Heads up, you guys! We've got a couple of personnel carriers with full payload and a gunship bearing down on us from the south! They'll be here in under five!"

"KARABAST!" She heard Zeb curse. "Why can't anything ever be simple? Where the kark is Hera when you need her?"

"Six mikes out, which means we need to hold out for a mad minute, and I don't know how we're gonna do that when they have armor and air!" She responded back, checking her energy packs for her blasters and really wishing she had her armor on right about now, though she didn't really know how much good it would do against heavy cannons and missiles.

"I do." She heard a mechanized, yet familiar, voice reply from behind them. There Blaviken stood, completely encased in pitch black armor, save for the faceless silver visor and the grey wolf on his breastplate. He motioned for them to come inside, and as they followed him, he turned on the lights to the room.

Stacks of papers and computer drives littered one table on the far side of the room, and in the back was a whole plethora of weapons, ranging from rifles to missile launchers and everything in between.

"Pulsar, I take it you're good with rifles?" He asked.

"One of the best." Was her confident reply. And it was no boast, she was one of the best shots that came out of the Imperial Academy on Mandalore.

"Good. Take the DC-17 there with the grenade launcher attachment." He then turned to Zeb. "And you, Lasat. Any good with anti-armor munitions?"

"Decent enough, I suppose." Zeb shrugged. Blaviken nodded and handed him one of the rocket launchers from the wall.

"It's a PLX-1, though I've heard the stormies call them 'Plexes'. It can be used for anti-armor and anti-air. And make no mistake when I say that this thing can take down even heavy tanks."

Zeb smiled as he hefted the rocket launcher, chuckling to himself. "Oh-ho, I take it back; this is going to be a _lot_ of fun."

As Zeb stepped outside with Sabine following him, the Mandalorian girl looked behind her to see Blaviken, in addition to the carbine strapped to his back, a sword to one hip, and the sidearm to his other hip, grab a Z-6 rotary cannon and several power packs for it, along with a tripod. He stepped outside with them and pointed to a slight ridge a click to the north of them.

"We're exposed out here if we stand near the cabin. I suggest we move just past the top of that ridge if we want some cover."

Both Sabine and Zeb nodded in the affirmative, and together the trio hoofed it to the ridgeline.

* * *

About three minutes later, just as everything was set up and the three were in their fighting positions, the tell-tale whine of Imperial engines could be heard on the horizon. Sabine looked through the scope of her rifle to see two ITTs rolling in at fairly high speeds to the shack, with an IPT hovering overhead to provide close air support for the ground element.

"Don't know about you, Blaviken, but it looks to me like someone ratted you out to the local garrison. Those boys are wearing the markings of the 15th, from what it looks to me." Zeb commented dryly as the ITTs came to a halt and started unloading the section of stormtroopers, about twenty in all, who moved out of the armored carriers with all haste.

 _At least their section sergeant is competent_ , Sabine wryly thought as she observed a Stormtrooper with a yellow pauldron directing his two squads; one to pull security, the other to stack up on the door and get ready to breach.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Blaviken replied. "For soon, we leave this world and Pryce won't have to worry about me messing up her coffers any further." He pulled out a detonator, presumably for the plastic explosive charges he had placed around the cabin. "Soon, the Emperor himself will know the meaning of my words." He began cryptically as he pressed the button. A resounding roar drowned out all noise as the cabin exploded into a fireball of gargantuan proportions, taking out the breaching squad and flipping over the ITT closest to the cabin.

To Sabine's ears, however, the most chilling sound wasn't the roaring of the fire produced after the explosion, nor was it the horrified and desperate screams of the wounded unlucky enough to survive the blast. No, the most spine-tingling thing she heard were the next words out of Blaviken's mouth, full of quiet contempt for the Imperials and a certainty of doom.

"Winter is coming."

At that moment, Blaviken opened up with his mounted Z-6 onto the remaining Imperial infantry, which made a terrifying _brrrt_ sound as it ripped through two troopers, with the rest diving for the ground and trying to counter fire onto their position. To their credit, the stormtroopers weren't wavering, bounding up the hillside in teams of two while their comrades tried to suppress herself and the others. However, Sabine was also making headway into making them fall back, as she lobbed another grenade from the under barrel launcher on her rifle near two troopers position. She then looked up to see the gunship swing around and begin a strafing run.

"Zeb, smoke that fucking flyboy or we're all going to die! Now, please!" Blaviken yelled as he kept up the fire on the stormtroopers, who by now were abandoning their position on the hill and slowly falling back to the remaining ITT, which was providing covering fire for them.

"Working on it, kriff-bait!" Zeb yelled back, and Sabine saw him turn to face the gunship, which was now strafing the ridge with rapid cannon fire, with his Plex. Sabine hugged the ground to avoid the bolts impacting the earth around her, and then she heard the tell-tale screech of a missile being launched.

For a split second, she feared that it was a rocket being fired from the gunship, but as soon as she heard a metallic groan following another explosion, followed by the sounds of an airborne vehicle desperately trying to avoid crashing, she looked up to see the gunship going down in a plume of fire and smoke, hitting the ground hard as it rolled over several times before coming to a complete stop.

It was a twisted, crushed remainder of what it had once been.

After this, the ITT, now full of the remainder of the Stormtrooper section, decided to back off, for at that moment the _Ghost_ came soaring overhead, firing its nose gun at the armored vehicle, which sent it hightailing it back to Jericho, before the ship circled back and opened up its ramp onto the ridge itself, whilst still airborne.

"Specters 4 and 5, this is 1. You might want to hurry; those stormtroopers you've run off have probably alerted the Star Destroyer in orbit about us." Hera warned over Sabine's comlink, in a tone that said 'Hurry the kark up now, please and thank you.'

"Roger, 1. 5, out," Sabine replied hastily, and then signaled the others to get on the ship.

Zeb got on first, being the closest to the ship. Next, Sabine boarded the vessel, being helped along by Zeb to make sure she didn't fall off. Finally, Blaviken simply walked on without missing a beat, abandoning the rotary cannon altogether.

When they were all aboard and accounted for, Hera punched the throttle and made her vector into the space around Lothal. Soon after, Sabine could feel the familiar sense of the ship jerking itself forward, as the _Ghost_ made the jump into hyperspace.

Sabine wearily made it back to her room, colorful and full of life as always, sat down near her bunk, and leaned on the bulkhead, contemplating the events of the day. After a few moments of thinking, she chuckled to herself slightly.

 _Just another day in the office_.

* * *

 **Well, another chapter of this story is finished, and another day's work done.**

 **Now, for those of you wondering why Robb is completely competent when it comes to the Galaxy, keep in mind that this was 12 years after the events of the Red Wedding on his homeworld; 12 years to get acclimatized and familiar with a galaxy so much more technologically advanced and diverse than his planet that at first, it would seem like he landed in the realms of the gods themselves. Rest assured, he isn't going to be upstaging the SW characters. (Most importantly, Sabine, Ezra, and the OT main cast, whom I've got big plans for). But on the other hand, there will be a reason for him being here; he is a leader of men, after all…**

 **And for those still wanting more of my other fic, I &F: Total War, don't worry; I promise it will be up by the end of this week at the earliest, and by Sunday afternoon at the latest. There is just one scene I need to plow through on my chapter there, and the rest will fall into place.**

 **Till the next.**


	3. Robb I

" _What a strange custom."_

 _Robb turned to his wife, Talisa, who had come up behind him inquiring about the bedding ceremony his uncle Edmure and his new wife, Roslin, was about to go through._

" _I suppose it would seem strange, from a foreigner's perspective." He smirked at her._

" _And this seems_ normal _to you?" She asked, incredulous that anyone would be willing to subject themselves to a dozen or more pairs of groping hands._

" _It's tradition." He answered with a smile as if it were indeed the most normal thing in the world. And it was the truth in Westeros, at least among the highborn. "Without the bedding, there's no proof that the lord and lady consummated their marriage."_

" _There are…other ways…to prove it." She purred in his ear, placing his calloused hand over her round, swollen belly._

" _Boy or girl?" He asked her, part cautious and part hopeful._

" _I don't know yet." She answered truthfully. "But if it's a boy, then I already know what we should name him."_

" _Oh really?" Robb chuckled. "It seems to me that a father should have_ some _say in his son's naming."_

" _Eddard." Was all she said._

 _Robb froze, his mouth suddenly dry. He honestly did not know what to say. For his wife to name their son after his beloved father, so cruelly ripped from this world by the order of a mad boy king…it was enough to move him to tears._

" _Don't you want to teach little Ned Stark how to ride horses?" She asked with a smile, caressing his face as he nodded his ascent._

" _I do."_

 _At those words, he leaned in to kiss her; his beautiful, willful, loyal wife. She happily obliged him, and in that moment, all was forgotten._

 _The wedding._

 _The war._

 _Theon's betrayal._

 _Karstark's insubordination._

 _Even, as it pained him, the deaths of his father and brothers, were momentarily forgotten in this brief time of joyous exaltation._

 _He was so enamored with his wife at that moment, that he failed to hear the doors to the great hall slamming shut and locking. But he couldn't ignore the song that began playing, even if he wanted to._

The Rains of Castamere _._

 _After a few stanzas of the song had played, decrepit old Lord Walder Frey held up his wrinkly old hand to bring silence to the hall._

" _Your Grace." He began, in that croaking, grating voice of his. "I feel that I've been…remiss in my duties. I've given you wine, and meat, and music, but I feel that I haven't given you the hospitality that you_ deserve _." At this, the mask of congeniality dropped off, and his voice became laced with dangerous malice. "My King is married, and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift."_

What's going on, Lord Walder? _He thought uneasily. Just then, he heard his mother get up and slap Roose Bolton hard across the face._

" _ROBB!" She called out, just as Black Lothar advanced on his wife with a hidden dagger._

 _Just as he noticed the band exchanging their lutes for crossbows._

 _Just as he heard the drunken roar of an enraged Greatjon._

 _Just as he felt a bolt enter his shoulder…_

* * *

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Robb screamed, stabbing at the dark with his combat knife; the one he had started to sleep with twelve years ago, as he woke up in a cold sweat.

After a few moments getting his bearings straight, figuring out that he wasn't in the Twins anymore, but rather on a makeshift rack in the medical bay of the _Ghost_ , he dropped his knife and ran his hands over his head, trying to get himself calmed down from yet another nightmare.

He could recall what happened; the screams and gurgles of his bannermen as they were set upon by the very men they had been dining with, the muffled sounds of battle as the Freys and Boltons were slaughtering his drunken soldiers one by one and setting their tents on fire, the blood-soaked dress of his dead wife as he clutched her punctured womb, and finally, Roose Bolton coming between him and his mother, uttering his chilling words as he stabbed him in the heart.

 _The Lannisters send their regards._

His breath was still shaky, he noticed, but at least his heart wasn't beating like crazy in his chest anymore. He then instinctively touched the scar on his chest, right where his heart was.

It was still there; all of them were still there. The scars that reminded him of his old life, the one he had left behind so long ago.

The scars that reminded him of willful Arya, graceful Sansa, smirking Theon, brooding but kind Jon, wild Rickon, adventurous Bran, his proud mother, and his just father.

The scars that reminded him of the war, of friends and family that died or betrayed him.

The scars that reminded him of his failure, of his decision to put love over duty.

Those scars would be there forever with him, he reckoned, until the day that Death came to reclaim him and he joined his family again in the afterlife.

 _No,_ he reminded himself bitterly. _There is no afterlife, remember? Only the nothingness of oblivion. They're all gone, dust. Arya, Bran, Rickon, Talisa, mother and father, my unborn son…_

His somber reverie was interrupted by the lights turning on, and he turned to face the doorway to the corridor of the ship, where he saw the ship's pilot, Hera Syndulla, standing, watching him with concerned eyes.

"You alright?" She asked, in a tone of voice that reminded Robb of his own mother.

Robb nodded warily, still a little shaky from the experience. "Yeah. A bad dream is all." He waved off.

"You were screaming, sir." She reprimanded. "That's something more than a _bad dream_."

Robb snapped at her. "Aye, it is. But if you'll forgive me, I'd rather not talk about it." He held her piercing gazed equally, his Tully blue orbs meeting her emerald, Lannister-like eyes. Both stared at each other, unwilling to back down until Hera sighed and shook her head.

"As you say, sir." She answered, and Robb didn't fail to detect the sarcasm in her voice, indicating to him that she reserved the conversation for a later date.

 _Let her,_ he thought. _She'll get nothing out of me._

"At any rate," she continued saying, "we're coming up on the _Phoenix Home's_ coordinates in about fifteen minutes. I'd recommend you get ready." With that, the green-skinned Twi'lek pilot sauntered off back to the cockpit.

Twelve minutes later, he was back on his bunk, now wearing his spacer clothes in the most presentable fashion he could possibly make them. Finding absolutely nothing to do during the rest of his wait, which was now three minutes long, he settled on taking out his sword, given to him all those years ago by the man who saved his life, and started to clean and polish it.

It gave him a kind of solace, polishing his Mandalorian steel sword, which he had named _Grey Wind_ after his beloved direwolf. The ancient runes of the First Men were carved on one side, spelling the sword's name, while the runes on the other side could roughly translate in Basic, "Winter Is Coming".

He let himself get lost in memory, as he reflected on the ancient words of his former House. Unlike many mottos and sayings, in Westeros or in this galaxy, which were threats and boasts, the words of the Starks were a warning; a warning to all men and women that no matter how good things seem today, trying times will always come, and one must be ready to weather the long night.

He oft wondered if Jon and Sansa were still alive, and despite his pessimism, he sometimes even wondered if his sister managed to retake their home from Bolton's clutches and be declared Queen by their bannermen, as his brother was the ever dutiful one, probably defending the Wall against whatever outside evil threatened Westeros.

Robb grimaced involuntarily when he thought of Jon. Over the course of the years that had passed while the struggled to find a place in this galaxy- in this still relatively new and alien world he had found himself living in, he had come to realize something important, something he would have never even thought of when younger.

Jon, out of all the Stark children, was the one who should have been King in the North, not him.

It was Jon who was most like their lord father; stern, honorable, just, and above all, duty-bound. It was Jon who knew how to be diplomatic and how to get two hostile factions agreeing with each other, whether it be him and Theon or Arya and Sansa. Robb knew that if Jon had been King, and not him, he wouldn't have made the mistake of sending Theon to his father, and he would have found the prettiest Frey girl possible and done his duty.

Hera's voice sounded out over the ship's PA system, interrupting Robb's thoughts.

"Attention all hands, we are dropping out of hyperspace in 3…2…1."

Robb wiped the excess oil off his blade, and put it back in its scabbard, as he felt the slight lurching of the ship coming out of light speed. He stood up, hooked up the sword to his belt, and waited.

* * *

About ten minutes later, he was walking down the corridor of the _Phoenix Home_ , the light carrier serving as the flagship for the similarly named Phoenix Fleet. It was modest for a flagship, he mused as he made his way up to the bridge, but what could you do when you had no funding, no resources to draw upon, and no major power left in the galaxy to back you?

As the old saying went, the beggar can scarce afford to be picky.

Robb frowned as he continued walking. True, the rebellion was growing every day, but so far the victories had been all minor; insignificant, really. The Empire was continuing to gobble up system after system in the Outer Rim and Wild Space, and so far, not so much as even a dent in their operations had been made.

Robb gritted his teeth. He knew that there was not much they could do, however. Not until a significant enough victory had been won that other worlds would throw in their support to this cause.

Hopefully, the information he had could be the key to such a victory.

He walked into the bridge towards the holotable, where the fleet's commander, Jun Sato, was busy talking to an aide. The commander was an older human man, likely in his early fifties judging by the greying hair, and had the air of a veteran soldier about him, most likely from his days fighting in the Republic Navy. Sato looked up, and upon seeing Robb, broke into a slight grin.

Robb did not return the smile, instead settling into that grim, stoic mask he always had in place; the one he had forged for himself ever since the Red Wedding.

"Blaviken." He greeted. "I've been wanting to meet you for some time now, though admittedly under better circumstances than this."

"Likewise," Robb admitted, albeit a little bit gruffly. "And please; no more code names. I'm getting sick to death of everyone speaking in code. Call me Robb, instead."

Sato frowned, obviously displeased at Robb's disinterest in maintaining proper military protocol by calling him 'sir' or 'Commander'.

Robb couldn't care less. Perhaps twelve years ago he would have been just as cordial and formal, but now he found himself wanting more and more to be brief and blunt with people, rank be damned.

That is, of course, if he was willing to talk to them in the first place.

"Alright…Robb." Sato began unsurely. "We thank you, first, for your critical role in providing information to us these past few years. But to more important matters, recently you said that you had vital information to share with the rebellion; intel that could change the course of the war itself, if I recall you saying."

"Aye," was all Robb said, before he plugged in the flash drive that he had taken out from his pocket and put it in the terminal. Immediately, the room went dark as various documents, shipping manifests, and highly classified messages between various high ranking Imperials.

"Around four years ago, my contacts in the mining guilds and the military began to feed me information about an above-top-secret weapons project." He began, pointing to security footage of a Lothal mine, showing workers digging out what looked to be a giant, green crystal. "All over the Outer Rim, it appears sixty-four of these large crystalline structures have been excavated and removed off-world to an undesignated location. I've also found evidence of massive amounts of doonium being shipped to the same undesignated location" He then pointed to several of the shipping manifests. "They weren't easy to get, but I've acquitted several manifests all with an unknown vector pointing towards somewhere in this location." He pulled up a map of the galactic plane, pointing to the general vicinity of Geonosis. "But the strange thing is, around two years ago, the vectors suddenly shifted to this location." The map pointer shifted from the Geonosis system to somewhere around Scariff.

"Interesting." Sato mused. "What about the encrypted messages between the Emperor's lackeys."

Robb sighed. "I've spent months trying to decipher the messages, and have only had marginal luck. There was one message I decrypted that caught my eye, though." He put the message up front, blocking out everything else. He saw Sato read the contents of the comm between Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin- the very brutal Oversector Governor of the Outer Rim who reminded Robb of Tywin Lannister- and what looked to be an important Imperial scientist; one Orson Krennic, Director of Advanced Weapons Research. He saw as Sato's eyes went wide, before shutting off the holoprojector and staring at Robb in contemplative silence.

"The Deep Space One Orbital Battle Station," Sato repeated slowly. "It would explain why the Genosians were all wiped out if the Emperor wanted to keep something secret."

Robb grit his teeth in anger. Of course, the Empire would have done something so dishonorable and completely unnecessary as wiping out an entire species to keep a secret. As time went on, it seemed that Imperials easily surpassed the Boltons and Lannisters in terms of cruelty and avarice, and they waved it away with the excuse that they were 'bringing order to an unruly galaxy'.

"But how powerful can this weapon be?" Sato continued. "Sixty-four giant kyber crystals? If my Jedi friends are correct about even one of those things, five dozen would-,"

"-be enough to destroy an entire populated world." Robb finished grimly. "You'll have to send a recon team to investigate the matter at Scariff."

"And will you head this scouting mission, Mister Stark?" Sato asked him, though to Robb it sounded more like an order, to which he shook his head fiercely.

"No. Contrary to popular belief, I was only feeding information to this rebellion, not actively participating in field operations. Make no mistake, Commander, that while I hate the Empire with every fiber of my being due to the sheer inhumanity the Emperor and his lackeys' display, that doesn't make me necessarily ready to lead an army." _Not after my failure as a king and a general._

Sato pressed onward at Robb. "We could use a gun and mind like yours if even have of what we've heard about you is true. You can trust us."

Robb sighed. "I no longer blindly place trust in men." He said sadly as he left to exit the bridge. "I can now only place my trust in steel and fire."

Robb squared his shoulders and walked away from the bridge, leaving a frustrated Sato behind as he returned to the hanger bay, unaware of a shuttle called the _Phantom_ touching down inside the hangar bay of the _Phoenix Home_.

Unaware that his fate would be bound up with the nascent rebellion against the Empire.

Unaware that a time for wolves was about to begin in the galaxy.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, another chapter down, another day saved.**

 **In regards to Robb, as to why he still has a sense of justice; remember, he's spent twelve years in the galaxy, now. I can guarantee you that he wanted nothing more than to either off himself again or drown himself in booze his first few years after his resurrection into this frankly strange and terrifying new world. However, he is much more reserved, pragmatic, and cautious that he was in canon, due to his experiences with betrayal and tragedy. A part of his reaction with the crew is going to focus on the relationship between everyone. And rest assured, some of these relations will be frosty, at first, with regards to Ezra, whom Robb will see first as nothing more than a petulant, angry child that should be grateful that he still has family, friends, and a familiar place to call home, while Ezra will see Robb as cold, distant, and overly demanding.**

 **Till the next.**


	4. Ezra I

_Maul. Vader. Palpatine. Tarkin. Pryce. Travus. Kallus._

Ezra kept repeating those names to himself, the ones he had been repeating ever since the disastrous mission to Malachor, out of the watchful ears of his now-blind master, Kanan, overbearing Hera, and, as much as he denied it to himself nowadays, beautiful, fiery Sabine, whom he may or may still have feelings for.

Ezra paused and recollected his thoughts. What was Sabine to him, now? True, he had stopped flirting with her years ago, and over time they had developed a particularly close bond- an outsider would say almost or just as close as the bond between himself and Kanan, but he was so unsure if he should regard the artistic Mandalorian warrior as a friend…or something more. He was equally unsure what Sabine thought of him, the street urchin turned Jedi Padawan.

He stared down at the Sith Holocron in his hands. So far, only he knew that it was on this ship, and it had taught him a great many things about the Force and how to fight.

Some would say that the Holocron was whispering poison in his ear; honeyed words of sweet nothings. Fools, he'd say. Every day, he grew more powerful, stronger, faster, more skilled with a blade than he had while just under Kanan's tutelage. Soon, he'd even be strong enough to take on those he hated.

Those monsters who had taken everything from him and more.

 _Maul. Vader. Palpatine. Tarkin. Pryce. Travus. Kallus._

"YES. YESSSSS. YOUR HATE GIVES YOU POWER, FOCUS, STRENGTH!" The Holocron hissed at him. "YOU WILL BEND THE GALAXY TO YOUR WILL. IN TIME, YOU MAY EVEN BECOME...EMPEROR." it breathed.

Ezra was caught off guard by that. An emperor, _him?_ The street-rat from Lothal's capital? It sounded almost too good to be true. And yet…

He saw it playing out in his mind's eye; whether it was a wild figment of his imagination or a faux vision planted there by the presence within the Holocron was irrelevant. He imagined himself as a just and honorable monarch- a ruler who was loved by his subjects and respected and feared by his enemies. He saw an empire built not on intolerance and oppression, but one built on justice and trade.

He even saw Sabine ruling by his side- his warrior-queen, who would bring fire and blood to their enemies, and art and music to their friends.

He snapped out of his reverie. _No,_ he thought. _One man should not have the power to dictate the fate of an entire galaxy. What if I end up like Vader? Or Palpatine? Power-mad and tyrannical?_

He also knew that Sabine would never go along with it. She was the essence of freedom- untamed, unbound, and creative. She was big on letting people figure things out for themselves, and not so big on others controlling every aspect of one's life. To chain her in the fetters of royalty… to Ezra, it would have been akin to putting a wolf in the cage.

Speaking of wolves…

Ezra was entirely unsure of what to make of the newest addition to their crew, the warrior who called himself Robb Stark. So far of what he could make of him, he was distant, aloof, and anti-social, to say the least. The man preferred to keep to himself, eating his meals in private and taken to read or clean his sword whilst others were holding conversations with one another. One day, when Robb was out in the bay, stripping and cleaning his blaster, Ezra decided to probe him with the Force.

It wasn't like the presence he felt around Kanan, or the recently-departed Ahsoka; light and full of warmth. It wasn't like what he felt with Maul; a raging inferno that threatened to consume everything around it. It certainly wasn't like what he felt with Vader; an empty nothingness akin to a black hole.

No, Robb wasn't nothingness, or light, or fire. Robb was cold, ice. He was _winter_. And like winter, it seemed that he could calmly wait until releasing his full fury upon an opponent.

An example of this would have had to been when Ezra was witnessing a sparring match between Zeb and Robb a few days ago. Unlike himself, who preferred the more aggressive Ataru-style of lightsaber combat, or Kanan, who relied on Soresu almost exclusively, Robb preferred to stand back and analyze his opponent, before utilizing a style of swordplay that exploits an opponent's weakness.

And he wasn't above the unorthodox, either. The Grey Wolf would use anything at his disposal to gain an advantage, whether it would be flash grenades, dust, dirty punches and kicks, anything. He even said as much to Kanan, once.

"An honorable fighter is a dead fighter, Jarrus. I'd much rather be living with a 'dirty' kill than dead with a 'moral victory'."

That had set the two off into a philosophical debate, with the two ending up to just 'agree to disagree'.

Ezra decided to put away the Holocron for now, instead opting to step out of his room and go to the cargo bay. Along the way there, he ran into a fuming Sabine.

"Hey, Bean!" he greeted, as she just huffed her way past him. "Okay? What's eating you?"

"Who do you think?" Sabine snapped, motioning to the cargo bay. "Mister 'High, Mighty, and Boorish', that's who!"

"Let me guess." Ezra quipped, rolling his eyes. "Robb's being in one of his usual grumpy, solemn moods, again."

"That's not even the karking half of it," Sabine grumbled. "You remember earlier this morning when I was showing everyone on the ship my new painting?"

"Not easily forgotten, that," Ezra replied. Nearly everyone on the ship had congratulated her on her new canvas painting; a painting of a fiery phoenix rising out of a burning Imperial cog.

"Well, brilliant me was thinking that our new, brooding member of the crew would like it as well. So, I went to his room to show him. Do you know what he said to me? 'A warrior shouldn't waste her time on frivolities.'" She fumed, mocking Robb using her best impression of his voice. "And apparently, you and I are 'green knights of summer, children more interested in playing at war than fighting in it.' I'm sorry, but he's forgetting one crucial detail- _we saved his ass on Lothal!"_ Sabine ranted. "You know what, kriff him! I'm going back to my room." With that, she went into her room and slammed the door shut.

Ezra sighed and turned back to walk to the cargo bay. The truth of the matter was Robb didn't get along well with anyone on the ship save for Zeb, and Rex whenever he was called upon for a mission. Technically, Robb _was_ under his command, as he was a lieutenant and commander of the cell's ground operations until Kanan could get back on his feet, which was doubtful.

On the other hand, Robb seemed to give respect and loyalty to only those he thought deserved it, which was pretty much narrowed down to a few people, and he certainly wasn't on the list, despite him outranking Stark.

He spotted Robb near the loading ramp, doing what he always did when he was bored; cleaning that damned sword of his. He walked up to the older man, still preoccupied with wiping down his blade.

"Stark." He said, trying to be courteous and brief.

"Bridger." The older man replied evenly, never taking his cold blue eyes off his task.

"Heard you argued with Sabine. Or, more accurately, chastised her for things she isn't even doing wrong." Ezra cut to the chase, crossing his arms.

"No." Robb corrected. "I'm simply giving her advice befitting of a warrior." He stood up to his full height and faced Ezra, his ice blue eyes gazing into Ezra's sapphire blue orbs.

For a moment, Robb looked not like a warrior, but a king to Ezra.

"And now I will give you advice, too." Robb droned. "You have the makings of an excellent leader, Bridger. You care about the men under your command, you are loyal to the crew, and you do not second guess yourself. As does young Wren." Robb complimented, to which Ezra felt a slight twinge of pride at.

That twinge was gone with what he said next.

"However, you are also arrogant, reckless, and to put it mildly, petulant. Your demeanor when you don't get your way is often that of a pouty child."

"And you aren't petulant?" Ezra snapped. "You sit in here and brood all day and night, the only time we get to communicate is when we're on a mission, and you actively avoid any sort of relationship with us!"

Robb's eyes narrowed at him. "You don't know a thing about me, Bridger. Where I come from and the errors I've made. And I suggest that if you wish to remain on good terms with me, you will no longer test me."

Ezra scoffed at the older man. "How can your past be any worse than what me or Kanan went through? What Sabine or Hera went through? What Zeb went through? You talk of petulance and fear, yet the only one I see acting like a coward is _you_ , Stark."

Robb closed on him so fast that Ezra barely had time to reach for his lightsaber, their faces now mere inches apart.

"Your parents were ripped from you, yet you had a home to return to. Wren's uncle was killed right in front of her by her superior officer, yet she still has her clan. Hera's people are oppressed, yet she still has her father." He spat, the spittle landing on Ezra's face. "Kanan and Zeb come closest to what I went through, true enough, but they weren't pulled into oblivion as they watched everything they cared for ripped from them one by one. They didn't wake up in a place so far from home, so strange compared to the world you once knew, with no way to get back. They didn't have to spend five years learning everything again from the ground up, with no-one else to teach them or count on them." Robb glanced down to see him clutching his lightsaber, holding it against his gut.

The Grey Wolf laughed, yet it was a laugh without any mirth or warmth.

"Oh, this is rich; you're threatened by me." His expression turned dark, and for a moment Ezra was reminded of Vader. "So, you think you'd be the first to try to kill me or the hundredth? The thousandth? Well, let me tell you something, _Ezra of House Bridger."_ He began to poke his chest, making him back up several paces. "I've been wanting to die ever since I got to this galaxy! I've been wanting to rejoin my wife and family in oblivion for nigh on twelve years now! But the Force will not allow my death, be it in old age or sleep or war, though I do not know why! So, you want to be the _man_ to kill me?" Robb grabbed Ezra's saber and pressed the cold metal handle further onto the skin. "Well, do it! Take your saber and gut me right now! I'm a threat to you and your entire family, right? DO IT! KILL ME! KILL ME! NOW! KILL ME!"

Robb beat his chest screaming for Ezra to kill him, and in that moment, Ezra didn't see a warrior, or a king, or a wolf, or even a threat.

All Ezra saw was a broken man, consumed by years of immeasurable rage, grief, and pain.

All he saw was the man whom he could become.

And in that instant, all the whisperings of the Sith Holocron, the illusions of power and grandeur, the anger and loathing he felt for himself, his master, for Robb, and for all his enemies, vanished away like morning dew, and he dropped his lightsaber to the floor. What had happened to Robb, that he had become this broken, brooding mess?

As if reading Ezra's thoughts, Robb looked down at him, his features now looking tired and worn with age, and spoke with a defeated voice.

"Do you want to know why you can't kill me, Lieutenant?" He asked rhetorically. "It's because I died a long time ago when I was young." With that, Robb brushed passed him, back into the main corridor to presumably go to his room, grabbing his sword along the way.

Ezra collapsed to his knees, trying to get a hold of his emotions and center himself. Was this his destiny? Was he to become like Stark, trying to hold on to everything only to lose it? To become something that cold, distant, and utterly broken?'

Was it the Holocron leading him to that fate?

All the sudden, Ezra had the urge to throw the ancient Sith artifact out the airlock and forget about it for the rest of his days. He did not think of it at the time, but he knew the looks of concern and dread he got from the rest of his team, particularly from Sabine and Zeb, had always been warranted.

In that moment, Ezra thought of the wounded, pleading men he coldly killed, the ship of Imperial scientists he callously blew up on the pretense of them fighting on the wrong side, the sick thrill of causing one Imperial captain, who was stationed on his homeworld at the time, pain by cutting his arm off with his saber before putting the man out of his misery- because it began to _bore_ him.

He thought of the arguments he was getting into with Hera _and_ Sabine more and more about his behavior, on and off missions.

He thought of the glares he both gave and received from Zeb, a man whom he thought of as an elder brother.

In that moment, in that one clarifying, horrific moment, he realized something.

He was no better or more righteous than the men he hated.

The Force nudged him in the direction of the balcony, and he looked up to see Sabine staring down at him, her brown eyes full of shock and worry. He took a deep, shaky breath before speaking to her. "How much of that did you see?" he asked.

"More than enough." She answered, her voice soft and lined with concern. "We should tell Hera about this. She needs to hear about what kind of man Stark is."

"Already have," Hera said as she walked into the cargo bay. Even Kanan, as blind as he was, could not have missed the fury on her face. "Ezra. Sabine. Details. _Now._ "

Ezra knew better than to question Hera in this state, so he recounted all that had happened that morning, leaving no detail, great or small, out. Then Sabine recounted her argument with Robb to Hera, who kept a contemplative, if angry, face the whole time. When she spoke, her voice was full of iron resolve.

"We are going to talk with him. All of us." She commanded. "There is absolutely _no_ excuse for his behavior, especially for a veteran soldier like him."

Ezra rubbed the back of his head. "Honestly, I think Zeb should be the one who brooches this topic to him. He's closer to Robb than anyone else on the ship."

"But not close enough to curb his behavior." Hera shook her head. "I'll talk to the others about this. In the meantime, Sato has a mission for us. Be prepared to receive the op order within 2 hours."

With that, Hera turned and walked into the cockpit. Sabine eventually followed her, giving Ezra one last, lingering gaze full of sorrow before leaving. And after a moment, Ezra, too, left the cargo hold, his mind burning with questions, but one stood out among the rest; something Robb had said to him.

" _It's because I died a long time ago when I was young."_

* * *

He dreamed the night before the mission, which was a rescue operation to, having fallen in a fitful sleep due partially to Zeb's snoring, partially due to the malevolent whispering of the Holocron, and partially due to Robb's words.

 _He walked through an unknown camp, in an unknown land on an unknown planet. Banners flapped gently in the summer night's breeze. Some banners showed a fist gloved in plate armor. Some showed mermaids and bears and giants. Some standards showed a white son blazing on a black field, while others were inscribed with a bloody red flayed man on a white cross. The most prominent banners, however, were that of a snarling grey wolf's head on a snow-white field._

 _It was the same wolf emblazoned on the armor of Robb Stark, Ezra realized._

 _The soldiers themselves were strange to Ezra. They did not carry any of the familiar weapons known to any denizen of the galaxy, nor were there any signs of modern technology to be found. Instead of blasters, they carried maces, swords, spears, crossbows, and polearms. Instead of plastiod, they armored themselves in plate armor, mail, or padded jackets. But all knew hardship, it seemed._

 _He walked closer to the center of the camp; a ruined stone fortress by the look of it. He stepped inside and saw what looked to be the commanders of the army- for they dressed in far better armor and wielded better weapons that most in the camp- surrounding a tall, brash, grim-looking young man, sitting on a stone bench with an older woman that must have been his mother. There was something familiar about the young man, though he couldn't quite place what it was, yet._

" _The proper course is clear," One of the commanders, who was wearing the sigil of a trout on his armor, declared to the rest of the camp. "Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his."_

" _Renly is not the King." The young lord spoke with a raised voice._

 _The commander with a fish sigil frowned at him. "You can't mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord!" he scoffed. "He put your father to death!"_

" _That doesn't make Renly king." The young man corrected his subordinate. "He's Robert's_ youngest _brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis!"_

" _Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?" The commander asked him. Before the young lord could respond, his commanders broke out into an argument. Some favored declaring for the elder brother, Stannis, while others touted Renly as the right choice. After a moment of this bickering, a giant man rose and bellowed, reminding Ezra of Zeb, somewhat._

" _My lords. MY LORDS!" He shouted, getting the others to quiet down. "Here is what I say to these two kings." For his answer, the giant man spat on the ground, to the cheers and laughter of the men around him. "Renly Baratheon is_ nothing _to me, nor Stannis, neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong! And piss on the Lannisters; I've my belly full of them." He got more chuckles out of that one. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, but now the dragons are dead." He drew a massive greatsword and pointed it at the young, familiar looking man. "There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to; the King in the North!" At that, the giant man knelt before the young lord, who looked uncertain for a moment, then rose to his full height._

" _I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle, and their iron chair, too! The King in the North!" Another lord declared the young man as his king, bending the knee._

" _Am I your brother, Robb, now and always?" Another lord, just as young, asked him._

ROBB?

" _Now and always." The now apparent younger Robb answered his friend, or perhaps it was his brother._

 _The other youth took his sword out and bent the knee. "My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, from this day, until my last day."_

 _An older woman from the back raised her mace and shouted for all to hear. "The King in the North!"_

 _Soon, the entire camp took up the cheer, bending their knees and raising their swords before this one boy, Robb Stark._

 _As the vision faded into another, Ezra could still hear Robb's lords shouting for him, praising him._

" _THE KING IN THE NORTH!"_

 _The dream started to twist and distort. He saw many images, incomprehensible to him._

 _He saw a man who looked much like Robb getting his head cut off, on the orders of a boy-king._

 _He saw Robb, wounded and bleeding, getting stabbed by one of the generals from the previous vision._

 _He saw a man who looked to be Robb's brother fighting off a massive horde of…creatures…with a sword made of fire._

 _He saw a beautiful woman with silver hair, riding a great, fearsome black dragon, leading an army of many nations and peoples._

 _He saw a young boy being pushed off a tower by an older, blonde man._

 _He saw a mad old king on a throne of iron, shouting at everything and everyone._

" **BURN THEM ALL!"**

 _He saw Coruscant, Kashyyk, Dantooine, Lothal, and other worlds, once bright and vibrant, turn lifeless, cold, and icy._

" **BURN THEM ALL!"**

 _He saw two Jedi fighting on a planet made of fire and smoke._

 _He saw a beautiful woman giving birth to twins before dying._

 _He saw a burned and maimed man being put into a suit of black armor._ Vader.

" **BURN THEM ALL!"**

 _He landed finally in a snow-covered valley, with ice-topped mountains on every side of him. He looked around to find any sign of life._

 _Of anything that grew in this desolate landscape, where the winds of winter howled relentlessly._

 _So far, his search was relentless, but upon closer inspection, he could spot something in the center of the valley, about a good kilometer away._

 _Trudging through the ankle-deep snow, while the cold winds bit through him despite his best attempts to keep warm using the Force, he made the slow trek to the object in the center, which was quickly becoming apparent to be a tree as he got closer._

 _A very large, white tree, at that, with blood-red leaves._

 _When he got close enough, he could see a face carved into the side of the tree facing him, smiling, yet weeping 'blood' from its eyes. Around the tree, he saw round stones circling it in some sort of pattern. From the tree, itself, Ezra could feel some sort of residual Force-energy. It was as if the tree was timeless, able to see past, present, and future without blinking one of its unmoving eyes._

 _As soon as he got close enough to the tree, Ezra felt compelled to touch it He laid a hand upon the ancient tree, on the bottom of its laughing mouth._

 _That soon proved to be a mistake._

 _For as soon as he withdrew his hand, he saw a vast horde of what he could only describe as zombies surround him, all in various states of decay. Some of the undead were relatively fresh corpses, barely showing any signs of decay. Others were almost nothing but bones and scraps of skin and armor._

 _Some of the corpses were stormtroopers, some of them were rebel fighters. Some of them were clones. Most were human, many were alien, but all of them had one defining, chilling feature._

 _They all had bright, lifeless blue eyes._

 _To his deepest horror and utter revulsion, he saw his friends amongst the undead. There Hera stood, with one lekku cut off and half her face missing. There Zeb stood, with his guts removed and one of his eyes stabbed out. There Kanan stood, his right arm dangling uselessly, hanging there by a tendon._

 _There Sabine stood, bald and rotting, her mouth lipless and decaying._

 _The dead soon parted, and out of the new opening, four riders strode forth on decaying black horses. These newcomers were not undead, that much Ezra could tell, but from what he saw, they were still just as dangerous, if not even more so._

 _Three of them were much the same; skin so pale it looked blue, fine white hair flowing from their head, and white beards adorning their gaunt faces, with each of them carrying some sort of sword staff, wearing black armor._

 _The fourth was different._

 _Instead of white hair, he had a ring of horns adoring his bald skull, reminding Ezra of Maul, initially. Instead of pale-blue skin, his was white as the snow itself. Instead of a sword staff, he carried a wicked looking battle-ax. Ezra had a gut feeling that this was the leader of all the undead._

 _The leader of the undead looked at him, and now Ezra truly got a good look at him._

 _At first, he thought him to be Maul or at least a doppelganger, but when he got a closer look, he could not even give voice to his horror._

 _The thing up on that horse was himself, his facial features twisted and gaunt, his normally lively blue eyes cold and bright._

 _The evil version of Ezra looked upon him in derision and made a motion with his hand._

 _After that, all hell broke loose, as the horde of zombies swarmed upon him._

 _Ezra drew and ignited his saber, it's brilliant green hue lighting up the darkness before him. He utilized all his skill fighting the endless waves undead, all his power, all his strength. But it seemed like each wight he cut down was replaced with five more, and soon he was dragged to the ground._

 _He could feel their teeth chew upon his flesh, their hands ripping him apart limb from limb, their swords eviscerating his guts._

 _The last thing he saw before waking up, was the undead Sabine ripping out his throat with her teeth._

He never screamed as loud as he did now.

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter done!**

 **Yeah, if you can't tell already, Robb is kind of a hypocritical, dysfunctional prick after his death. A major part of his story arc is going to be having to realize that despite everything being ripped apart from him, he isn't the only one on the Ghost who's lost everything they held dear. He's going to have to realize that he isn't the only broken man on this ship**

 **The scene between Robb and Ezra with the former shouting his desire to die is based on the 2007 Beowulf film.**

 **I was initially torn between Ezra discussing Robb's meltdown with Kanan, and the scene I eventually put in. I ultimately decided to put the dream sequence in. No, don't worry, there won't be a galactic-scale White Walker invasion (unless you want it.)**

 **One thing that's changing is that Ezra is realizing the Holocron's malicious effect on him a good while before it happens in canon. Robb provides the example for him of a man who had everything yet lost it all due to pride and arrogance, which is what the Sith are all about.**

 **I hope I'm developing the pairing between Ezra and Sabine adequately. I confess romance was never really my strong suit.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Ron Glass. May your soul wander freely through the 'Verse, now, Shepard.**


	5. Sabine II

A bloodcurdling scream woke her up in the early hours of the morning.

Sabine quickly sat up, immediately regretting it as she hit her head on the top bunk, uttering some few choice words as she got out of bed in her pink shirt and black shorts. She didn't know what was going on, but the sorry son of a bitch was going to pay for waking her up like this.

Running out of her room to see what the commotion was, she stumbled right onto Kanan- or, more accurately, the blind Jedi Knight stumbled into her.

"Sorry," Kanan muttered out as he blindly made his way in the direction of Ezra's room. Now, Sabine could hear a distinct whimpering, as well as Zeb frantically saying something she couldn't quite make out. When she saw Hera and Kanan literally rush into the room, she followed suit and was greeted by a ghastly sight.

Ezra lay on the floor, cradled on the floor in the fetal position, his normally olive skin paler than snow, and his eyes wide and unseeing. All he was doing-could do, it seemed, was repeat the same phrase repeatedly, shivering while doing so.

"The cold, the cold, the cold…"

"Ezra, wake up!" Zeb yelled, frantically shaking him. "Damn it all, why won't he wake up? Karabast! WAKE UP."

"Move aside!" Hera commanded the Lasat warrior, who let go of Ezra and stood up, backing out of the way as Hera and Kanan knelt beside their ward- some would go so far and say their adopted son.

Hera cradled the young man in her arms, gently rocking him back and forth, while her green eyes stared into Kanan's face mask, wide with fear. The next words she uttered from her mouth chilled Sabine to the core.

"Kanan, he's ice cold."

Those words stunned everybody in the room. When Kanan finally spoke, his words were full of trepidation. "This isn't some ordinary nightmare, then. It must be a manifestation of the Dark Side." He clarified. "Everyone else, get back. I'm going to try calming him using the Force."

"Will that work?" Sabine asked him. Frankly, she was worried about her teammate. Sure, at first, he had been this annoying, trash-talking street urchin with an obvious crush on her, but over the years the flirtations had ceased, and their bond, which had begun on shaky grounds, had blossomed into friendship, even sibling-hood.

But in the far recesses of her mind, something whispered to her that it could become something…more. _Should_ be something more.

As hard as she tried to deny it to herself, she had to admit that the boy who stowed away on their ship over three years ago, was fast becoming a handsome young man. She often caught herself staring at him whenever she saw him shirtless, usually after the orphan-turned-Padawan got done after a hard day of training with Rex, Zeb, or, very seldom, Robb. He had turned, it seemed, from a scrawny, wiry youth into a lean, ripped man, scarred all over from the many battles the rebels fought against the Empire. But it wasn't just physical appearance that seemed to attract her to her slightly younger teammate.

He was still somewhat reckless and arrogant, true enough, but he was also fiercely loyal, courageous, and genuinely cared about the well-being of others. He was protective towards his friends and fierce in battle.

Still, though, he had some of his boyish charms. He was still a wisecracker and smooth talker at heart; she remembered once when he had successfully managed to get two farmers to settle their differences, all by buying them a few pints of ale and getting them to talk about their grievances with him.

Even with all the arguments lately about his newfound streak of ruthlessness.

"I honestly don't know," Kanan confessed, snapping Sabine out of her thoughts and into the present. "I've never tried this technique before. But nothing else so far is working…"

"…so, we have nothing else to lose by trying." Hera finished. "Except for possibly his life or sanity." She sighed. "But if you think this is the way, I trust you completely."

Sabine held her hands to her mouth, closing them into nervous fists as Kanan put his left hand on Ezra's forehead, breathing ever slowly until it became a steady rhythm. Ezra soon stopped the muttering, and his breathing slowed down to match Kanan's. His bright blue eyes, widened in fear, began to relax, and the tone of his skin slowly returned to its natural olive coloring.

Eventually, Kanan and Hera let go of the youngest member of the crew, and Ezra sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes while Sabine let out a sigh of relief she didn't even realize she was holding in.

"By the Old Gods." Robb whistled, having snuck in past Sabine while she was concentrated on the commotion. "What in the name of the Father was _that_?"

Kanan turned his head to the sound of Robb's voice. "An ancient technique taught by my master. She only used it once, on another Jedi who was plagued by some Darksider's magic. It's inherently risky, for both the Jedi who's performing it and the person it's being performed on. You could lose your life or your mind." He clarified. The blind Jedi Knight then whispered, barely audibly, "I was afraid that I would have failed him, again."

"I know of something similar," Robb said. "But it's a power only a few on my homeworld possess, and it's more or less used to bond with beasts than it is to cure night terrors."

Ezra groaned, and everyone turned to him, with Hera wrapping him up in a motherly hug.

"By the Force, I thought I lost you there for a moment. Please for the love of the Maker, don't scare us like that again."

Sabine's closest friend nodded, still a little shaken by the nightmare. "I'll keep that in mind next time." He attempted to joke, but the humor was extremely thin.

"Ezra." Kanan began, in that fatherly voice of his. "That was no ordinary nightmare or even one borne of traumatic stress. That was some sort of manifestation of the Dark Side, and it was affecting you in one of the worst possible ways."

Ezra looked like he was about to snap at Kanan, but then appeared to remember something and calmed down. "I know, master." He leaned against the bulkhead. "I tried to wake up, but I couldn't. All I could do was lay in that cold wasteland, with those… _things_ …all around me."

"What things?" Kanan asked. Sabine looked on at her friend with concern in her copper-brown eyes.

Ezra sighed. "I guess I'll have to start at the beginning if it will make any sense." He looked around at everyone but kept his eyes on the ever-stoic Robb, which Sabine found strange.

"The dream started with me walking through this military camp, on a world I didn't recognize. Kanan…the people on that planet were _primitive_. They didn't even have slugthrowers!"

"What kind of backward-arse planet doesn't even have hyperdrives, let alone firearms?" Zeb asked before he was elbowed sharply in the gut by Sabine, who shushed him as Ezra continued with his tale.

"I ended up walking to the middle of the camp, which was a large, stone fortress of some kind. In the great hall of that fortress, there were these nobles, for a lack of a better word- all grim, fierce, and fiery. And in the middle, I saw you."

Everyone turned to see where Ezra was pointing, and to Sabine's surprise, he was pointing at Robb, who tried keeping his stone mask on, but Sabine could see something behind it.

It was the shock of recognition, of being found out.

"You were there, arguing with your lords." Ezra continued. "They declared you their king after one of them pointed out that 'the North' had ruled itself for thousands of years. 'The King in the North', they called you." Ezra paused and seemed to gauge Robb for a reaction before continuing again. "I then saw many different places and events, all unfamiliar to me. They ranged from Robb getting stabbed in the chest by one of his lords to two Jedi fighting on a volcanic planet. The one thing that tied those visions together was an old madman shouting 'burn them all'. Finally, I arrived in this valley." The young man involuntarily shuttered, before speaking again. "It was…dead. Cold. Lifeless- except for one thing. There was a large tree in the middle of the valley; white with red leaves, and it had a laughing face on it, weeping blood. I could feel the tree was strong with the Force, and so I went to touch it." He drew a deep, shaky breath. "And then those… _creatures_ …surrounded me. They were all dead, and yet they still walked." His lowered his voice, still obviously afraid of whatever those zombies were. "And all of you were among them, zombies like they were. And then I saw the things leading them. Beings made of pure ice, riding on dead horses. I saw their leader, and at first, I thought it was Maul, due to the horns on this head. But then I looked at his face….and it was me. He commanded his minions to attack me, and I tried to fight them off, but the kept coming at me, and when they finally dragged me down to the ground…you guys ripped me to shreds with your hands…and your teeth." He took a few more shaky breaths, before looking at Robb again. "Is it all true? Were you a king?"

Robb didn't answer him, he just stared at everyone with that same hard look on his face. Hera stood up and crossed her arms.

"I think you owe us an explanation, Robb." She chided. "When he mentioned your role in his vision, you clearly knew what he was talking about."

"I don't think-," Robb began, clearly trying to dodge his way out of his, as he had done multiple times in the past.

Sabine wasn't having it.

"Listen here, _burc'ya_!" She yelled, moving between him and the door while poking him in the chest. "I have _had it_! Ever since you joined on half a year ago, you've done nothing but be spiteful towards us when we don't deserve it. You don't eat with us, talk with us, or do _anything_ with us. All you do is sulk in your hole and feel sorry for yourself. I don't know whether your too proud or just a coward, but this ends here! My friend wants answers…needs answers; answers that you have! And you think you're so high and mighty that you won't give him those answers? Kark you!" She spat.

Anger flashed in the Grey Wolf's eyes, and Sabine thought for a moment that Robb would try to strike her, although it was quickly quashed by the realization that Zeb would rip him in two if he tried. But then, she saw him do something so unexpected it seemed surreal.

He laughed.

And this was no bitter, mirthless chuckle, either; this was a hearty laugh, full of memory.

Robb stopped laughing. "You remind me of my sister." He said, a slight smirk still on his face. "She was just as willful and wild as you are." He moved over and took a seat on Ezra's bunk, pulling a silver pendant out of his pocket, which was in the familiar shape of a wolf's head. He studied the pendant for a moment, lost in memory, before turning his gaze upward to meet the crew.

"Sabine is right." He spoke, his voice now tired again. "I am a coward. Every one of you has done nothing but show me acceptance and courage, and I still shit on your honor, turn you away, if only to shut out the pain. You do deserve answers, young Bridger. Painful and hard as they may be for me."

Robb seemed to steel himself before beginning his tale of how he came to be here. "Ezra is completely right on where I come from. My home world has no true name, though some of the maesters were wont to call it 'Planetos'. The continent where I was born, however, is called Westeros, which was divided into Seven Kingdoms ruled by one king, and I was the proud son of its northernmost, largest kingdom, simply called 'The North'."

 _How creatively named,_ Sabine sarcastically thought as Robb continued.

"I was the son of the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark. My mother was Catelyn, and I grew up with five brothers and sisters; Jon Snow, Sansa, Arya, Brandon, and Rickon, along with the ward Theon Greyjoy. The Starks had ruled the North for over thousands of years, and under my father, the North loved us, for we were men of honor and justice. We were, for the most part, a happy family; we had our disagreements to be sure, but when it mattered most, we were a pack." He smiled at the memory, but then the smile soured. "That all changed the day King Robert Baratheon rode into Winterfell to name my father his Hand; his chief advisor. That was the day the wolves began to die."

Stark then began to recount to them everything in detail. He told them of Bran's crippling by Ser Jaime Lannister, of his father's capture and execution by Joffrey Baratheon, the new king and secret bastard of Jaime, of the devastating conflict known as the War of the Five Kings, which saw entire kingdoms laid to waste. He told them of Theon's betrayal and murder of Bran and Rickon, and the Sack of Winterfell. He told them about his wife, Talisa Stark, whom he had met as a medic. He finally told them, after what seemed to be a moment composing himself, the hardest part of his tale.

"Near the end, I was winning every battle I fought." He began again. "Stannis' defeat at the Blackwater, however, coupled with the loss of Winterfell and my own folly in breaking my oath to Lord Walder Frey, changed things irrevocably. The Tyrells cemented their alliance with the Lannisters, and now I was outnumbered nearly six to one. I was cut off from my own kingdom by the Ironborn, and Tywin was whittling down my numbers little by little. It was then, when I was planning a great assault on Tywin's stronghold of Casterly Rock, to swing the war back into my favor, disaster struck again. Rickard Karstark had murdered two of our hostages in cold blood, out of some twisted desire for justice, and he repaid his deed with his head. His son, Harald, never forgave me and marched his troops- nearly a quarter of my remaining troops- back home with him. I couldn't assault the Rock without those men, and so I went crawling back to Lord Frey, to beg for his forgiveness. And so, he agreed, for a price; my uncle Edmure Tully would marry Roslin Frey in my place. I had thought that things were going to finally change for our family."

"But they didn't." Kanan calmly observed. Robb nodded.

"No, they did not. Unbeknownst to me, Lord Frey and one of my chief advisors, Roose Bolton, were plotting with Tywin, conspiring to have me killed, with Bolton becoming Warden of the North and Frey becoming Lord Paramount of the Riverlands." He looked at the floor. "Weddings in Westeros are supposed to be sacred affairs, protected by the laws of gods and men. To break the sacred rites of hospitality is to invite eternal damnation on one's soul. But such matters mean little too ambitious men such as Bolton. When my men were drunk, and my lords and I gathered and feasting in the great hall, they sprung their trap. The Boltons and Freys turned on us, slaughtering us with sword and crossbow. My wife…" He drew in a shaky breath as he steadied himself with both his hands. "My wife was stabbed to death by Black Walder. She was carrying our son…killed before he could have ever been born. I crawled to her, bleeding heavily from my wounds, and found the strength to stand, as Lord Walder mocked me for breaking my oath and my mother implored me to leave the castle- as if leaving were possible at that point. I tried to speak to her, to reassure her that everything would be alright when Roose stepped in between me and my mother. He whispered to me 'the Lannisters send their regards', and plunged his dagger into my heart." He paused, letting everything sink in for them. Sabine's anger and disdain for the man evaporated in a second, replaced by shock.

No, it couldn't be. How could a man die and be brought back? He had to be lying, there was no other explanation!

As if to silence the unspoken criticism, the older warrior took off his shirt, revealing a hard, scarred body underneath. The scars told of battles won and lost, ranging from cuts to punctures, but the most shocking was the puncture wound on his chest, right above the heart.

It looked like it had pierced all the way through.

The silence in the room was deafening. After a few tense moments, it was Hera who finally spoke up.

"I…" She began, obviously trying to find the right words. "I don't know what to say. I've never heard of a man coming back from the dead, before. Kanan?" The Twi'lek pilot asked her constant companion- and her not-so-secret lover, per Sabine.

"No." Kanan answered immediately. "Per the Archives, before they were destroyed, it _should_ be impossible. And as far as I know, the Sith never succeeded in their immortality experiments. Maybe Robb could offer us an explanation." He offered, though it seemed to just frustrate the Grey Wolf.

"I don't bloody know why I came back!" He snapped. "And I certainly don't know why I came here, to this galaxy! Maybe it was a freak accident, maybe it was 'the Will of the Force'. I. Don't. Fucking. KNOW!" Robb clenched his fists, then unclenched them. "I've spent twelve years in this galaxy trying to figure it out. And I'm no closer to the answer than I was before." He looked around, with a tired, defeated visage. "At least…at least you all know why I'm so bitter, now." He shook his head, and walked to get out the door, presumably to head back to his room to brood.

This time, Sabine didn't stop him.

She couldn't stop him.

"That pendant," Ezra spoke quietly, at last. "It must be the only thing he has to remind him of his home."

"And I thought I lost everything on Lasan," Zeb affirmed. "At least a few Lasat survived that catastrophe. Him, though…

"…he was dragged here from the netherworld against his will." Hera finished. "Regardless, he should realize that he isn't the only broken person on this ship."

"What do you propose?" Sabine asked, eager to hear out her plan.

"A family should hold no secrets from each other," Hera answered. "I want us to sit down after this next mission. There, everyone will talk about their past, counting each one of their memories to the others until the present day. No secrets, no holds barred." Hera shook her head. "We have too many enemies now to be fighting a war amongst ourselves."

"I agree." Kanan stood up, gripping Hera's hand for support. Together, the two made their way out the door, and into their room.

Chopper bleeped something furiously, to which Zeb sent a scowl his way. "No, flaying Robb alive isn't the way to teach him some manners, you sadistic little bucket of bolts." The crazy droid just bleeped and booed some more, to which Zeb replied. "I don't care how much fun torture is for you, the answer is still 'no'."

The psychotic astromech did his best impression of a 'harumph', and shocked Zeb, laughing maniacally all the way back to the cargo hold, with a now-furious Zeb chasing after him, yelling "That's it, you're going straight to the scrap pile, droid!"

Sabine chuckled at the antics of the two, before realizing that only her and Ezra would be left in the room. The two regarded each other silently for moments, unsure of what to say.

Ezra was first to break the awkward silence. "I dunno about you, Sab, but I think I've had enough sleep for tonight. Wanna grab some breakfast?"

Sabine shook her head. "Nah, it's alright. I could use some more sleep, honestly. You woke me up early, remember?" She playfully chided, a smirk gracing her features.

Ezra shrugged. "Suit yourself." He got up and trudged his way out of his room. Before he could go any further, he stopped and turned around. "Thanks for checking on me, by the way." He fell silent again. "Good night, Sabine."

With that, he turned and walked off towards the mess, with Sabine gazing after him, a slight, affectionate smile gracing her lips, as she regarded the young man whom she may or may not have feelings for.

"Good night, _ner'vod_."

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that's done with.**

 **Yeah, not a lot of action in this chapter, but I wanted the confrontation between Robb and the crew to happen soon. Granted, he still has a long way to go in accepting them as "his pack", though perhaps that will change soon. Don't worry, he isn't completely getting back to his old self. He's still more cold and ruthless towards his enemies than he would have been in the War of the Five Kings, and that's going to cause tensions with the more idealistic members of the Rebel leadership such as Mon Mothma.**

 **Next chapter is much more action-oriented, and will start where SWR Season 3 starts; the rescue at Naraka prison.**

 **After that chapter, I plan on a Kanan-POV chapter. After that, who knows?**

 **Till the next!**


	6. Hondo I

Hondo whistled an old tune. It was one which he did not quite remember the lyrics to, but he remembered the rhythm well enough.

Time eats away at all memory, both collective and individual, so if one asked Hondo where he first heard it, he would have most likely replied that he could not remember, but he had been singing it ever since he was a child. It was a simple song about a man who slept with a beautiful woman and the woman's husband who killed him in a duel. It was a song still sung most commonly in the Outer Rim, most notably among those well-traveled, such as himself.

Whistling this tune brought Hondo back in memory to the good old days, when he was a king among pirates, and his men were the scourge of the Outer Rim, giving other crime lords like Jabba and Prince Xizor a run for their money. Now…

Now he was a shell of his former self, stuck rotting in an Imperial prison, with a disgraced Ugnaught miner, who went by the name of Terba, as his only company.

" _Quit whistling that damned song already!"_ Terba grunted in his native tongue, clearly annoyed with Hondo, again. " _I've spent three kriffing months in this damned cell, listening to you reminisce about the 'good old days' and whistle the same kriffing song over again! So, for the last karking time…SHUT THE KRIFF UP!"_

Hondo gave Terba his trademark grin, one which he knew sent most 'honorable' men into a teeth-gritting rage. "Terba, Terba, my friend." The old Weequay pirate began. "Have you no love for the classics? This song was written thousands upon thousands of years ago, by men far more cultured than you or I."

" _Cultured?"_ Terba snorted, incredulously. _"The song is about a guy kriffing another man's wife, and then getting cut down by his sword. How in the good name of the Force is that 'cultured'?"_

"Still, far better than what the bands play nowadays," Hondo countered, pointedly ignoring Terba's question. "What's the name of the band most kids are now listening to, 'Beastie Boys'? There's no life in that garbage! No sense of true rhythm or style!"

" _You shut your whore mouth!"_ Terba squealed, with Hondo bemusedly letting out a fake gasp. It was so easy to get under the Ugnaught's skin it was almost pathetic. _"The Beastie Boys are the best band that's come out of this decade! Better than the shit you sing constantly, at any rate."_

A long silence passed between them before Terba looked at the door. " _So, you said that someone was busting us out of here. You know who it is?"_

"Aye, I do," Hondo nodded. "He's an old friend of mine. Met him a few years back on Garel, before the Empire invaded the place. He's a former street urchin turned Jedi and Rebel Agent."

" _Now I know you're makin' shit up,"_ Terba grunted. _"Everyone in the damned galaxy knows that there are no Jedi left. The Inquisition saw to that if I recall correctly."_

"That's where you are wrong, my…scented friend," Hondo chastised. "I know a Jedi when I see one and trust me when I say that Ezra Bridger is the genuine article."

" _I'll believe that when I see him,"_ Terba snorted, still apparently unconvinced. _"Speaking of which, when is he busting us out?"_

"Hmm, good question. From what he said-," He trailed off as he heard footfalls outside of his door, but the sounds were not of stormtroopers marching down the hallway, or of officers walking to and from their tasks. No, these sounds were of a group of people running, their voices quiet and controlled, as if they feared that they would be caught by the guards. As they got closer, he thought he heard voices outside their cell. Hondo shushed Terba, in order to hear better.

" _6609\. This is the cell, Sabine, you're up,_ " a muffled voice sounded outside his door. Even though he couldn't quite make out the owner, he was certain of who it was. Finally, the boy had come for him!

Well, him and his companion.

"Ugh. I still can't believe that we're busting this guy out of prison!" he heard Ezra's female Mandalorian friend complain to him, to which Ezra seemed to have a ready reply.

"Trust me, Bean, we need the information he has," he spoke with all the confidence and authority of a commander.

"You heard the boss, open the door, _Bean_." Hondo heard the Lasat, Garazeb, tease Sabine, who just seemed to moan.

"Don't encourage him, Zeb," she retorted. _Mandalorians. Always so…laconic in their humor._

"Well, he is in here because of us," he heard Ezra try to reason, only for a newer, more stern and mechanical voice to speak up.

"That bugger brought whatever trouble he's in upon himself. Need I remind you that he's betrayed you and your friends multiple times in the past?" the Kuati-sounding voice spoke.

"Nope. But like I said, we need him right now." Ezra's voice retorted before the door slid open, and the rebels stepped into the cell. Hondo got up to greet them all, ready to flatter them but was stopped dead in his tracks by the black armored hulk standing right behind the Lasat and the Mandalorian.

The Grey Wolf himself.

 _Oh, sweet karking kriff. Okay, stay cool, Ohnaka. You've smoothed your way out of tougher situations. I mean, you did capture and ransom a Sith Lord, after all! How hard can it be to woo a guy who's known to repay treachery for sticking the traitor's head on a pike?_

"Purple-guy, Mando-girl!" he exclaimed, much to the chagrin of the two rebels. "And…Ezra Bridger, can that, truly be you? You've grown into quite the young man!" he complimented, not entirely out of falsehood.

"Hondo, it's good to see you, too," the boy greeted him back. Hondo acknowledged him back, before turning to greet the last person on this planet he was expecting to see.

"And finally, the one and only Robb Stark!" he tried to flatter. "You're not mad about that one incident…are you?"

"You mean the one where you left me to fend off a battalion of stormtroopers, by myself, while you ran off with the treasure that you promised to split with me?" Robb calmly asked, crossing his arms. "Or the one where you gave me only a tenth of the promised reward after you 'swore' you would give me a quarter?"

"Er…the former." Hondo sheepishly admitted, while the Lasat snickered and the Mandalorian girl just sighed.

"Oh no. I only languished in an Imperial prison for half a year because of that, before Saw Gerrera busted me out as I was set to be executed. Water under the bridge, I swear it." Robb sarcastically swore, waving his arms around for effect. "But, if you want to make it up to me, you'll come with us."

"And you better have the information you promised," Sabine added, threatening him.

" _Great, another person you've screwed over! Is there anyone you haven't met that you haven't tried to cheat?"_ Terba snapped, waving his fist at him. Honestly, Hondo could safely say…no.

"Who's the pig?" Zeb asked him, pointing to Terba.

"Oh, him?" Hondo began nonchalantly. "That's Terba, the source of my information." He leaned in close to Ezra. "You guys wouldn't believe the secrets he knows!"

"You're right; I don't believe you." The Lasat deadpanned. The Mando-girl also seemed to share in his enthusiasm, or the lack thereof.

"Oh, what _fun_ ," she sardonically stated. "Now were rescuing _two_ people."

"Hey, that's twice the fun." Ezra attempted to joke, or diffuse the situation, rather, while Robb just snorted.

"More like twice the trouble," he grumbled, before shooting his head up in alarm. "We've got company."

"There they are! Stop-," A Stormtrooper rounding the corner attempted to command before he was shot dead in the chest by Ezra. A flurry of blaster bolts erupting out of the carbines of the fallen soldier's comrades was the expected response, and Hondo, Terba, and their rescuers hightailed it out of there, heading to what he assumed to be the landing platform.

"Specter 4, this is 5. Change of plans, we're going to need a '44 Scoop at the landing platform."

" _On my way, Specter 6,"_ came the mechanized voice of the ship's pilot, who Hondo forgot the name of already.

They came upon an elevator, which would take them to the lower levels, straight to the corridor that would lead to the platform.

"Here, make yourself useful, for once," Robb said, handing him his modified SE-14r pistol.

"Ohhh!" Hondo exclaimed, examining the weapon, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "I haven't seen one of these babies in a long, long time. This should fetch a nice price on the black market." He was now practically salivating. A weapon belonging to the infamous Grey Wolf, scourge of the Empire? Oh yes, the credits would practically FLOW into his account.

"You do anything with it, I'm taking your hand as recompense," the Grey Wolf calmly warned him.

Hondo gulped, failing to notice Terba trying to reach for one of Sabine's blasters, before the young warrior slapped his hand away, as the Lasat behind them growled at the little piglet.

Soon after, the elevator stopped, it's destination having been reached, and the group began making their way to the landing platform, which was suspended over a near-bottomless chasm.

The Imperials knew how to make prisons and fortresses near impenetrable, mused Hondo, for this maximum-security prison was built into the cliff face of a massive gorge; there was only one major way in and out, not counting access hatches and service doors, and that was the landing platform.

Three stormtroopers appeared around the bend, and three dead stormtroopers hit the floor after successive blasts from Sabine, Robb, and himself. Hondo eyed the SE-14r again.

"Oh, I'm definitely keeping this!" He exclaimed, much to Robb's apparent displeasure.

"No, you aren't." The wolf growled before Ezra interrupted them.

"C'mon, this way!" He shouted, leading the others down the hallway to the platform. Standing in their way was a squadron of stormtroopers, all firing their carbines at the group, filling the space in between with deadly red fire and the smell of burnt metal, and what Hondo saw next reminded him of days long past.

Ezra holstered his blaster and drew his blade, its hue a blazing, brilliant green, immediately launching into action as he spun in the air like a whirling dervish, before bringing his blade down on the nearest trooper. The hot plasma seared through plastoid, fabric, flesh, and bone alike in an instant, as the trooper was bisected by the green blade before Ezra moved onto his next target.

The troopers fired frantically at the young Jedi, their volume of fire increased for a few, brief moments, but nothing they threw at him could stop the Force-powered young man, as he cut, sliced, and thrust his way through each and every one of the Empire's troops, their cries of surprise and horror cut short by the blade of the Jedi.

"Is that really Ezra?" he exclaimed in amazement at his abilities. "He reminds me of the Jedi of old, now!"

"Most of the time," the Mandalorian girl replied wistfully, though Hondo could pick up something else in her voice. It was soft, barely noticeable, but it was there. What it was, Hondo could only really guess at, though most learned men would have probably said 'affection'.

Wait, was she…in _love_ with Bridger?

Before he could continue that train of thought any further, the doors to the platform outside opened, and Hondo felt himself being shoved, as Terba sped past him.

" _Sorry, you old bastard, but the deal is off!"_ the Ugnaught miner shouted at him. _"I'm taking all the credit. YOU can continue to rot here and sing that damned kriffing song!"_

"What do you mean 'the deal is off'?" Hondo shouted, incredulous. Of course, everyone has a price, even Ugnaughts. "You greedy little pig!"

" _I'm free, bitches!"_ said pig happily snorted, as he threw his arms in the air in apparent joy. _"Do you hear me, you Imperial shits, I'm kriffing FREE!"_

"Terba, WAIT!" Ezra shouted, spotting the danger right as Hondo did- an AT-DP waiting for them on the platform. "There's a-."

His warning was cut short by the AT-DP firing its main gun, and Terba's life was cut short as he disappeared in an explosion of fire, dust, debris, and blood, with some of it raining down on the group.

"Well, what do you know?" Hondo attempted to joke. "I guess the deal _is_ off." The only thing that his joke earned, however, was a deadly glare from Zeb and an elbow in the gut from the Grey Wolf, who then looked at the walker.

"We have to do something about that walker!" Zeb shouted from behind cover, as a trio of stormtroopers had joined the walker on the landing platform, firing at them from behind some cover of their own.

"Well, whatever we do, we have to make it quick, or we're not going anywhere!" Sabine shouted back as she threw a thermal detonator at their pursuers, which destroyed a portion of the corridor they had come out of when it blew up, blocking off the troopers in the building and allowing the rebels a momentary reprieve from that angle.

"Don't worry, Sabine. I got us into this mess, I'll get us out," Ezra offered, but before he could do anything, he was interrupted by Robb.

"No. You are in command of this mission, Ezra. The team depends on you for guidance. Let me take this one," the Grey Wolf said, an eerie calm surrounding the armored warrior. Ezra looked like he was about to protest, but then tersely nodded. "Alright, but if you die…" Ezra warned.

"As the old saying among the Ironborn on my homeworld goes," Robb began, inexplicably removing his helmet and sitting down facing the walker. "What is dead may never die."

The Imperials stopped firing at them, apparently confused by the Grey Wolf's behavior.

"Uh, Robb? What are you doing?" Ezra asked, apparently confused. "I don't think sitting down in the middle of a firefight is going to…" The boy trailed off as he looked at Stark, his blue eyes going wide at what he saw before him. "Oh, sweet kriffing hell…"

"What, boy, what is it?" Hondo ran over an asked, before he saw what Ezra was talking about. He gasped as he looked at Robb, and saw one of the most disturbing sights he would ever see.

Robb's eyes, which he remembered being cold, blue sapphires, were now completely white.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling scream erupted from the far end of the platform, where the Imperials were.

"AARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHH! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! PLEASE! NAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!" Came a panicked, desperate voice. Out of the walker's access hatch tumbled the driver, who feel a good twenty feet onto the ground, much to the shock and horror of his comrades, as he was still clutching his helmet-encased head. He promptly sat up, however, and calmly removed his helmet.

"Revan's balls," one trooper cursed, running over to his friend. "What the kriff happened to you, Rorrick?"

"Man, it was like some sort of demon was possessing you!" Another trooper spoke up, worriedly. "C'mon, Rorrick, we need to get you to the medic."

The driver who fell out of the walker smiled at his two friends, but this was not a smile of thanks, from what Hondo could tell.

This was a smile of malicious intent.

As Rorrick was being helped up by one of his associates, he suddenly grabbed his combat knife, jabbing it into the jugular of the first trooper, before grabbing the dying man's blaster carbine and shooting the second one point blank in the chest.

"What the kriffing hell?" the sole trooper remaining said, turning around to face the driver before also being shot in the face by the apparently psychotic driver, who looked around at the carnage before blinking and snapping back to reality. Rorrick let out a wail of horror and despair, collapsing to his knees in shock, his mind apparently unable to process what he had done to his comrades before Hondo turned his attention back to the Grey Wolf.

His eyes were now back to normal, and he had put back on his helmet, handing his rifle to Sabine, before advancing on the poor sap, presumably to put the man out of his misery.

"YOU!" the distraught trooper pointed to Robb. "YOU DID THIS, YOU EVIL SON OF A BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" he screamed in rage, pointing his carbine at Robb, but by then it was too late anyway.

The Grey Wolf swatted the man's rifle out of his hands, before picking him up by the throat and holding him over the ledge.

"I did." his mechanized voice stated, calmly, yet darkly. "But you won't kill me. The Force will not allow it…yet."

"What do you want?" Rorrick asked him, his voice now coming out as a choked whimper.

"What do _I_ want?" Robb answered, rhetorically. "What the same as my friends want; Palpatine's head on a pike. And more- to go home, namely, although that's impossible. Now, it's my turn; what do you want?"

"To be free!" the man gasped

"So, you can report me to your superiors? No, I think not." the Grey Wolf snarled. "You Imperials are below my contempt. You talk about bringing order and peace, yet all I see you do is beget more bloodshed and misery."

"What makes you better than us, then, huh?" Rorrick spat, the glob landing on Robb's face. "What makes you different?"

Hondo swore that Robb must have narrowed his eyes when he said this. "The difference is, Imp, that I don't massacre villages. I don't murder those too weak to fight- not like you."

"Please…" The Imperial begged him. "Just let me go."

Robb paused for a moment and appeared to think it over, before bringing his prey somewhat closer to him, still suspended over the chasm, and gave him his dark, malevolent reply.

"That…is a very poor choice of words," was all he said, before releasing his grip on the man.

Rorrick screamed all the way down, his voice growing distant as the chasm swallowed the pilot up.

After that, there was nothing but silence, as the Grey Wolf turned to face the crew and Hondo, who was sure that he had a little piss coming out of him at that moment.

"What?" he snapped at them, apparently expecting another berating from them.

"Robb," the girl began. "That was…a little unnecessary, don't you think?"

Before the Grey Wolf could retort, Ezra's commlink started to chirp.

"Ride's here," he stated urgently, just as the rest of the Imperials were bursting through the blockage in the corridor. "Get ready to jump!"

 _What?_

"Wait, 'jump'?" Hondo asked, incredulous. "Why do we need to…"

He was cut off by Zeb, as the Lasat practically dragged him over the edge. Hondo screamed, but only a millisecond later, found himself face down on a familiar durasteel hull. He chuckled loudly as he entered the _Ghost_ , which blasted off out of the atmosphere, and eventually into hyperspace once it left Naraka's orbit.

 _Ah, yet another successful escape by Hondo Ohnaka,_ he thought, pleased with the outcome of the events as he sat down near the dejarik board in the bay. _This…is going to be fun!_

But despite his thoughts, he could not help but shudder as he thought of the events of the day.

 _Robb Stark. Now, there is a man who was not to be crossed. But is he a man…_

 _Or a monster?_

* * *

 **A/N: Done! Finally! After a couple rewrites and delays, not to mention Christmas and New Year's, I'm finally finished!**

 **When I said more cold and ruthless, I meant it. No, he's not kicking puppies and generally other Stupid Evil crap, he's simply far less merciful and good-natured than he was in the past. Think of him as the Anti-Vader, another broken, bitter, and ruthless man. Now, there IS a sort of honor to him, however queer it might seem, just as there is this strange sense of honor with Vader.**

 **Yes, the Beastie Boys exist in this galaxy, too. I was inspired to put this in after seeing a funny piece of Sabezra artwork on Tumblr, which featured Sabine listening to one of their albums.**

 **Oh, and a fair warning, a major plot twist is coming up in the next few chapters involving Robb and a certain character. For those of you incredibly observant, you might have picked up on this in this chapter. If you do know what it is, DON'T mention it in the comment section. PM me the answer and I'll write you back.**

 **Otherwise, have a great New Year, and may the Force be with you.**


	7. Kanan I

The world was grey.

For Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight and former Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic, the world was nothing but various shades of grey. Once, it was full of color, but ever since Maul took his sight on that accursed Sith planet, all he could see was various shades of grey.

All he could now feel was despair, self-loathing, and an overwhelming sense of guilt for Ahsoka's death. Hence, he shut himself off from everyone, Hera and Ezra especially. It pained him, but what else could he do? He couldn't see, so he couldn't fight, and he certainly couldn't afford cybernetic eyes, not with the scarce funds the Rebels had.

 _Kanan._

There it was, that voice again, calling him out into the wild.

 _I see you._

He didn't know who it belonged to, or where it even came from. All he did know, however, that whoever the voice belonged to was extremely powerful…and _ancient._

 _Come to me._

"Kanan," a more familiar and comforting voice spoke from behind. Kanan could not see anymore, but he didn't have to. He knew Hera's voice and soothing presence, even if blind "I was hoping to see you at the briefing." She informed him, her voice full of concern.

Kanan didn't speak for the longest moment. How could he, after all that's happened?

"I heard Ezra's doing well," he opted to say instead, deliberately avoiding her unanswered question.

"He has been stepping up," Hera informed him, though Kanan could detect the annoyance in her voice directed at him. "But…uh…you know, he blames himself for whatever happened to you and Ahsoka."

That brought on a whole new level of guilt and shame for Kanan. Ezra blamed himself? No, it wasn't his fault. How could he have known Maul's nature- the insane former Sith had blinded everyone to his true intentions.

"Well, I don't," he stated with a pained clarity. "I never have."

Hera's voice became steel. "Try telling him that," she icily replied, before receding footsteps told Kanan that she had turned around and walked back to the briefing room, presumably to vent.

He sighed. She was right. Ezra deserved to know that he didn't blame him for what happened on Malachor, no matter what Ezra might have thought of his own role in that matter.

He stood, a little shakily, and began to make his way back to the Ghost, trying not to stumble into anything in his grey, unseeing world. Along the way, he tried to make out the presences of everyone in the Force.

So far, everything was a blur when they were farther away; his connection to the Force not what it once was. True, he had rescued Ezra from that Dark Side-induced nightmare, but even that had been an act borne of desperation, not faith.

"Jarrus," another familiar voice spoke, this one nearly void of emotion.

 _Speaking of faith._

Robb's presence chilled him to the bone as if Chopper Base was suddenly subjected to the worst blizzard in a decade, despite its location on a dry, rocky world. Darkness and light swirled around the former king as if the conflicting, dualistic nature of the Force was embodied in this one man. He wouldn't go as far as to say that Stark was the same as Vader or the Inquisition, however. The man had some form of honor, that much was clear. But it was also very clear that the Grey Wolf did not share his view on how to win battles and defeat one's opponent. He repaid kindness with courtesy, and betrayal with death.

A man to be wary of, that was for certain.

He nodded to where he thought- felt, rather- the man was.

"Stark," he greeted evenly, crossing his arms.

"I've come to tell you that your Padawan is looking for you. He says he's got something to tell you, something that he's been wanting to get off his chest ever since you pulled him out of that nightmare." the Grey Wolf informed him, obviously in a hurry to get somewhere, despite the careful concealment in his voice.

Kanan vaguely wondered for a moment if Robb had been hearing the same, ancient voice he had been hearing, as well, calling him out into the desert.

"Alright," he nodded instead. "I was just on my way to talk to him. I guess this just gives me some extra impetus." he attempted to joke, trying to regain some of his old charisma, though he felt that his attempt at humor fell flat with this man when Robb didn't say anything.

"Indeed..." was all the Grey Wolf said before sighing. "Look, Jarrus, I'd love to stay and chat, but I really must be going. I've important business to attend to." Stark brushed passed him, clearly intent on getting somewhere. Kanan turned around.

"Robb!" he called, and he heard the footfalls of Robb's armored boots halt. "May the Force be with you."

He didn't hear Robb acknowledge him in a verbal way, but he did hear the pause before the footfalls began again, fading away until he heard the tell-tale roar of a speeder bike starting up, indicating that wherever Robb was going, it was far and off away.

Again, he wondered if Robb had heard the same voice he had.

Soon enough, after a few moments of walking slowly as to make sure that he would not bump into anything or anyone, he soon came to Ezra's door. He hesitated at first, unsure about how to begin the conversation, before he took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Come on in." His apprentice greeted when the door slid open. Kanan heard a shifting of sheets and assumed that Ezra had been laying down on his bunk when he knocked on the door.

"Heard you wanted to talk to me about something," Kanan said, leaning on the bulkhead while trying to face his Padawan. He heard Ezra sigh, and an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame suddenly hit him. He quickly attuned himself to whatever Ezra had to say.

"What is it?" he asked, curiosity and trepidation seeping into his voice, in equal measure.

Ezra sighed. "Remember what happened on Malachor?"

Kanan nodded, unsure where this was going.

"Well, I told you that I got rid of the Sith Holocron almost immediately after that, remember?" he started to explain, the guilt increasing in his tone, which began raising red flags in Kanan's mind.

"Yeah, I remember," he replied, the concern now rising in his voice. "Why?"

Ezra did not respond to him with words. Instead, Kanan heard his student get up and go over to his dresser. He then felt something being placed in his hands as he heard Ezra sit back down.

The object was smooth, made of what felt to be glass and bronzium. It was pyramidal in shape, and Kanan could feel the malevolent presence of the Dark Side seeping out of it.

 _No,_ he thought in abject horror as realization dawned on him. _It can't be…_

"The Sith Holocron?" he began slowly, still trying to come to terms with it. His shock only increased when he felt one of the edges of the pyramid was out of alignment. "You _opened_ it?"

Ezra's answer was quiet. "Yeah, I did."

"Ezra," Kanan began. "You know that only those who use the Dark Side of the Force can open this." _Please, tell me you're not walking down that path. Please tell me that it was Robb or Maul who opened it._

"I know that!" Ezra suddenly snapped. "But what else was I supposed to do, without you to teach me? To guide me? I had nothing else to turn to! I needed to get stronger, better, to protect all of you!" He began to yell. "And with it, I was winning battle after battle." But as soon as his yelling began, it subsided. "I needed to be stronger…so I wouldn't hurt you again. Any of you."

Kanan felt whatever rebuttal he had melted away. Now, at last, he understood. Ezra blamed himself for everything that happened on Malachor and was trying to amend for what he perceived to be his error…in the worst, most desperate way.

So instead of yelling at him, the elder Jedi pulled him into a hug, his arms wrapping fully around Ezra's slimmer frame. "I never blamed you, Ezra." He whispered to his apprentice, comforting him as the younger of the two Jedi broke down in sobs. "I've never blamed you for any of it. Neither has Hera or anyone. So please, don't blame yourself."

"I…" Ezra sniffled a few choked sobs. "I thought you would have been angry with me."

 _Is that what he thinks?_ "No," he replied, close to tears himself as he removed his mask from his face, making sure Ezra saw him, even if he couldn't see Ezra. "No. I was afraid for you. I was terrified that you had lost your way."

He heard his ward take deep, shaky breaths- the air hitting Kanan's chest before he calmed down. "I was…until I talked to Robb the other day…and the nightmare."

 _Of course,_ Kanan realized. _Ezra began to reject the Holocron, and whatever was inside it didn't want to let its grip on him go, so it enthralled him in a nightmare, hoping to break him._

His course was clear. The Holocron needed to get out of here, as fast as possible, and as far away as possible. The only question was _how._ As far as he knew, Maul was most likely searching for it; from what he knew of the former Sith who blinded him, the man was the very definition of obsessed.

 _Come to me._

The mysterious voice again spoke to him, commanding him to find it.

 _I have what you seek._

Kanan felt the Holocron in his hands again. Somehow, Ezra's rejection of the darkness within tied to the Grey Wolf, but how? It wasn't like he could get any answers out of the man if he asked; even when Robb had confessed to them about how he came to be, he still preferred to keep to himself always.

And his abilities… Zeb had described to him what happened on Naraka, that Robb didn't just take control of the mind of an Imperial trooper- he had _dominated_ and _tortured_ him mentally. And then, the Grey Wolf callously threw said trooper over the edge of a landing platform, apparently just because he was bored. But how did he have those abilities, to begin with?

Kanan remembered that he had once tried to probe Robb, to test him for Force-sensitivity. And the Force did push back, somewhat, but unlike what he felt from nearly any other Force-user, the Force emanating from Robb felt _primal_.

 _Raw._

"You know, I can't let you keep this." Kanan reminded Ezra at long last, who had let go of his embrace.

"Yeah," he sniffed. "I know." Kanan couldn't see Ezra's sheepish grin, but he did feel the guilt and shame emanating from his apprentice washing away, replaced by relief. "I don't need it anymore." Another long silence passed between them before Ezra burst it again. "Kanan…thank you…for everything."

He could not help but smile as his heart warmed.

"You too, Ezra. You too," he replied as he exited his room.

As he left the Ghost, he distinctly heard singing coming from Sabine's room. It was a sweet, yet mournful song.

" _It's always summer, under the sea. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh…"_

* * *

The desert was a conundrum, Kanan found, as he trudged his way through the sands and rocky outcroppings of Atollon, trying to use the Force to find his way towards the source of the voice even as krykna spiders followed him at a distance, obviously viewing him as a food source or a threat.

He didn't really feel like correcting them.

It was about an hour of walking later, as he _really_ started to feel Atollon's heat bear down on him when he felt the ground give way to some sort of depression.

"You out here, too?" he heard a familiar, stentorian voice call out to him. He then heard the tell-tale footfalls of Robb Stark's armored boots walking towards him. "I take it you've been hearing the same voice as well, calling you out here."

"Yeah," Kanan confirmed. "The question is who, though, or what?"

"I don't know," Robb replied. "But we're going to find out, one way or another."

"Agreed," Kanan agreed with Robb, and so the Jedi and the former king began to call out, hoping to find whoever called them out there in the first place.

"Hello?" the Jedi Knight cried out, trying to find whatever summoned them there.

"Anyone out there?" Robb called. "We're here to answer your summons."

"We can sense your presence!" Kanan added. "Come out!"

Just then, the ground began to rumble in front of them, and out of it rose…something, judging by Robb's trailing off

"By the Old Gods and the New…" The Grey Wolf quietly swore. Whatever the thing that summoned them was, it must have been big. Kanan could feel the Force practically _flow_ from whatever this gigantic being was.

"Hello there." The giant thing boomed, it's voice carrying over the coral mesas. "Ah. The two of you heard my call. Good. The imbalance between you two woke me from the deepest of slumbers."

"Imbalance?" Kanan repeated, not quite sure what this being was getting at.

"Yes…" The thing drew out. "Your presence is like a violent maelstrom on this quiet world."

Kanan sucked in a breath. "You're a Fore wielder!" He exclaimed, kneeling before it. "But...not a Jedi."

"Hmm." The being harrumphed. "Jedi and Sith wield the Ashla and Bogan, the Light and the Dark, true enough. But I…I am the one in the middle. The Bendu." The creature called himself. "Now, what do _you_ call yourselves?" The thing- Bendu- asked them.

"I am Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight." Kanan greeted first.

"And I am Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell," the wolf greeted next, a measure of impatience creeping into his voice.

"Hmm…I sense great conflict within you, both," Bendu observed. "Your thoughts dwell on your apprentice, while yours dwell on the family you lost.

"How do you know?" Kanan asked, confused as he pulled out the Sith Holocron. The Bendu must have seen it, for he began to chuckle.

"Oh, Kanan Jarrus and Robb Stark, I have been watching over all your lives, with a thousand eyes and one." The object floated away from Kanan's hands, and into Bendu's. "Ah, what's this? Interesting."

"Careful with that!" Kanan warned. "It's-," he was cut off as he heard the telltale sign of it opening. "-dangerous."

"How so?" the Bendu asked him, obviously intrigued, though Kanan couldn't be sure whether he was playing with him, or not.

"It's a Sith Holocron," he explained. "It's an agent of evil. My student had been using it, and I'm still afraid of whatever effects it might still have on him."

"An object cannot make one good or evil." Kanan heard a graveling sound as if the Bendu was shaking his massive head. "The temptation of power, forbidden knowledge…even the desire to do good can lead one down that path. But only _you_ can decide to follow it or not. And from what I have seen, your apprentice has rejected it, utterly, thanks in no small part here to Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

"Not always," Kanan replied quietly. _Me being blind can't be changed_.

"Ah, so your conflict becomes clear, but yours, Robb Stark, remains clouded..." the Bendu trailed off. "Both of you will be tested. You, Kanan Jarrus, will remain here with me, and you, Robb, will go into the cave behind me. There is a tree growing in there, one that will answer your unanswered questions…mostly, and help you to restore your own balance."

Kanan could sense Robb's confusion, and then resignation, as the former King in the North got up and walked to the cave entrance.

"Do not worry about Robb, Kanan Jarrus," the Bendu reassured. "He might be stubborn and sulky, but the fire within him is still there, buried deep underneath."

"It almost sounds like you know him." Kanan inquired.

"I did, once," the Bendu confirmed. "But that is a tale for another time. First, let's start with this." He sensed the Bendu motion to something "I assume that is what you think is keeping the krykna away?"

"The resonator, yes." Kanan nodded, to where he put the resonator in the ground. So far, the tonal metal poles were really the only effective defense against the krykna.

 _But why wasn't Robb attacked?_

As if to answer his question, the Bendu picked up the resonator…and promptly crushed it between two massive fingers.

 _NO!_

"Hey, HEY!" he yelled in desperation. "What did you do?!"

"I am helping you." the Bendu replied calmly.

"That," Kanan seethed, "was the only thing protecting me from those creatures! And you destroyed it!"

"You believe that," the Bendu retorted, "but you must learn to see things differently, now."

Kanan scoffed. "Look, I can't see _anything_! Not anymore!"

"No." the Bendu gently rebuked him. "You are _unwilling._ "

"Are you saying there's a way to restore my vision?" the Jedi Knight hysterically asked him, though also not without hope.

"Your physical sight…no." The Bendu answered. "That cannot be healed. But I can teach you to _see_ if you are willing to learn."

 _The Force is the answer_ , came Bendu's true, mental reply.

Kanan took off his face mask. The world was still grey, but there was a smote of light coming through the greyness He took a deep breath, and faced the mysterious being known as the Bendu.

"What must I do?" he asked his resolution firm and stood. "So, tell me, how must I restore my sight?"

"You must be empty; there is only the Force," Bendu informed him. "Now, turn, and walk forward."

Kanan did so, reluctantly. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"And why not?" the Bendu asked, inquisitively.

"Because of the spiders," Kanan answered, annoyed. "I hear them."

"Ah, so sound relates them to you. What else?" the ancient being asked.

"I can feel them in the ground, their vibrations when they move," the blind knight answered him, still walking forward.

"Indeed, you are perceptive," The Bendu mused. "Are they close?"

Kanan paused for a moment. He didn't sense any krykna around. "No." He answered the Bendu. He was sure of it.

"Continue on then." The Bendu commanded, seemingly satisfied. "How else do you relate to them?"

"From before, in the caves," Kanan answered. He didn't really want to revisit _that_ memory, not when it had almost cost him the lives of his team, most notably Rex's. "A foul smell, old, decayed. It was as if they had the stench of death about them."

"Ahhh…a fascinating description," Bendu replied wistfully. "You see much for being blind."

"Well, that's because I saw them…" Kanan argued. "When I had my sight."

"Then picture them, in your mind," the ancient Force-wielder instructed. "Are they close now?"

"No..." Kanan replied a bit more irritable than he should have. What was the point of all this?

"Are you sure?" Bendu inquired, a knowing edge in his voice. Now Kanan was truly on edge. He reached out with his hand…

…and felt a smooth, hard shell while hearing a frightening clacking sound coming from nibbling beak and mandibles.

Shocked, Kanan backed away. "What should I do?" he asked Bendu, afraid for his life.

"What do you _want_ to do?" Bendu inquired back.

"Run!" was his honest answer, but then he heard a scuffling behind him. "But there's another one behind me."

"Ah-ha!" the Bendu exclaimed! "You are beginning to see! Now, be empty, and continue onward!"

Kanan nodded and gulped, but as he stood still, he noticed something. The krykna, violent, aggressive species that they were, were doing something completely odd.

They were remaining docile- curious if anything.

"Why aren't they attacking me?" he asked, caution and confusion mixing equally in his voice.

"It is not in their nature," the Bendu informed him, to which Kanan again scoffed.

"It has been in my experience," he replied to him, to which he heard Bendu shook his head.

"It is because you do not see them, my Jedi friend. Look closer," he commanded. Kanan shook his own head frantically.

"There's _nothing_!" he replied. "I can't sense them!"

"Look within," Bendu replied, gently. Kanan redoubled his efforts and deepened his connection to the creature.

"I sense…" he began. "Fear."

"The spider's?" Bendu asked. "Or someone else's, perhaps?"

Kanan looked within himself. He saw faces flashing before him.

 _Ezra._

 _Hera._

 _Sabine._

 _Zeb._

 _Chopper._

 _Robb._

 _Maul._

 _Vader._

He saw Ezra falling from a station in the clouds. He saw Atollon base wither and die under the green fire of Imperial cruisers. He saw the cold, calculating face of an Imperial Chiss admiral, clothed in a white uniform, surrounded by various works of art.

"Ezra!" he exclaimed in terror, activating his lightsaber, it's sapphire blue hue beginning to make itself known to him.

"No." he realized. "It's not Ezra, or Robb, or the spiders. It's…me..." Now, the solemn truth rested heavily on him, and the greyness of the world finally peeled back. "That's how they see me. Fear, anger, grief, _hatred,_ " he deactivated his saber. "That's how I see myself."

The world, once blurry, became more and more clear, and even though Kanan could no longer see the physical world, he saw the Force itself flowing through _everything_.

And it was beautiful.

The living Force flowed and ebbed throughout the spiders, the rocks, the sand, and the coral, giving off more vibrant color than anything he ever saw with his real eyes. _Sabine would love to see this_ , he thought wistfully.

"Ah, your sight returns!" the Bendu declared triumphantly.

"I distanced myself from everything. From the Force, from Ezra, and from Hera," he replied, feeling guilty for his actions. Perhaps…though…perhaps what happened on Malachor _wasn't_ his fault, any more than it was Ezra's or Ahsoka's.

Perhaps, he should take his own advice, and forgive himself.

"Your connection to the Force allows you to see in ways that others cannot. If you can see yourself, you will never be truly blind, Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight," the Bendu advised him.

Kanan smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in what felt like years. "I understand." He replied, and then turned and began making the trek back to the base, where he saw his family's Force presences beckoning him like a warm light.

"Where are you going?" Bendu asked him, amusement in his voice.

"Home. My family needs me." He replied. By the Force, he would not abandon Hera or Ezra, ever again.

"And what of Robb, hmm?" The Bendu pressed.

"You said it yourself, this is a test he must face alone," Kanan replied, confident that the Grey Wolf, no matter how surly he was, could face whatever Bendu would throw at him.

"And what of the spiders?" the ancient being again pressed.

"I can see them, so there's nothing to fear." the knight replied, his confidence building with every step.

"And what of _this_?" Bendu asked his final question, holding aloft the Sith Holocron. Kanan stopped, a smirk forming on his features.

"Keep it," he simply replied. "As a gift."

He heard the Bendu's bemused laughter and his soft reply to the Holocron.

"Now, let's go see how Robb is faring in the cave, my friend."

Kanan walked on, his countenance one of determination and confidence.

The world would never be grey for him, again.

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter is done.**

 **More clues I've dropped in this chapter for the big reveal that's coming up next chapter, which will, of course, be a Robb POV. Why is Sabine singing that song? How does the Bendu know Robb? What is that tree he mentioned? If you know the answer, again, don't put it in the comment section. PM me your guess or answer, and I'll confirm or deny it to you.**

 **Now, I wanted to develop the father/son relationship between Kanan and Ezra in this chapter, as well as throw in some Kanan-x-Hera moments as well. Hope I did alright in that regard.**

 **"It's Always Summer Under the Sea." belongs to Ramin Djawadi, HBO, and George R. R. Martin. I do not claim to own it in any sort of way.**

 **Until next we meet…**


	8. Robb II

For being such a dry, sandy world, the cave Robb now found himself in was surprisingly damp, as if this were the only spot on this damned rock with actual running water. Supposedly, there was a great tree in the middle of this cave that would be able to help answer his questions, although whether Robb could trust the Bendu was another matter, entirely.

The ancient being didn't _seem_ to be plotting any sort of betrayal, but then again, he hadn't thought Theon or Roose to be craven traitors, as well, with the former costing him his brothers and his home, and the latter costing everything else. So, Robb was wary of the ancient Force-wielder, if not downright distrustful.

He eyed the holes the krykna had dug into the side of the cave with caution. From what Kanan had told him about these spiders, they were not a threat to be trifled with. So far though, the krykna had refused to attack him, preferring to stay in their coves and rest, instead.

 _How much longer is this cave_ , he thought with a bit of impatience, as another sharp turn came up ahead. _It feels like I've been trekking through this damned tunnel for over an hour now._

 _Patience, Robb_ , came the Bendu's mental reply, _everything will be made clear once you reach the center._

"You keep telling me that." Came Robb's sarcastic reply as he avoided tripping over a root. Due to the low-light conditions, and the fact that he was trying to conserve power in his helmet, he couldn't really make out what color the root was. The fact that he hit a tree root was surprising in of itself. It seems, however, he did not have to wait long, for as he rounded another bend, he could spot a faint, soft light in the distance- the visor filtered out the worst of the glare coming off the damp, tan rock.

The light got brighter the closer he got to the source, and now he could definitely hear the gushing sounds of running water, meaning that there was a stream nearby, and where there was running water, there was vegetation.

Life.

A few more meters and Robb stepped into something wet. He looked down to see that he had stepped into the stream. Looking up, he saw that he had finally reached his destination, and what he saw…

He had no true words to describe the emotion.

For standing in the middle of that cave, surrounded by green grass and bubbling brook, awash in the pale moonlight coming through an air hole in the cavern ceiling, was a large, white tree covered in red leaves.

The tree Bendu had been talking about…was a weirwood.

"How?" he whispered, taking off his helmet and walking shakily towards the ancient tree. "How?"

"How do you think?" came the bemused, yet soft reply of the Bendu. To Robb's further shock, the Bendu did not appear to him as a giant, stone creature, but rather as a large, black raven, perched on one of the large boughs of the tree.

This raven was unlike other ravens, however, for it had three eyes.

"It's was brought here, eons ago," Bendu continued. "After humanity took to the stars."

"Impossible." Robb stuttered. "My homeworld lies beyond this galaxy! Beyond this universe!"

"Or so you think," Bendu chuckled knowingly, threating to drive Robb at up a wall. "Do you remember the day you and Jon scared Sansa down in the family crypts? Or when King Robert came to Winterfell?"

Robb froze up. How could this creature know what had happened all those years ago? How could the Bendu know the detailed, private memories of his life- memories that he had only shared with his brothers?

"No more riddles," he growled. "No more tricks. How do you know what I did during those days? How can you know my _memories_?" his voice picked up in an octave, and he pointed towards the three-eyed raven in frustration. "Who. Are. You?"

The raven seemed to sigh. "Oh, Robb," Bendu spoke, his ancient voice seeping through the cavern, as though he bore the burden of the galaxy itself, and had been doing precisely that for a very long time. "I remembered a time when we laughed and smiled at each other when you and Jon taught me to wield a bow. I remember a time when you told me to never give up, even after I was crippled."

The raven hopped down from the bough and flapped to where Robb was. Then, in a blinding flash of light, the raven was gone.

In its place was a boy- no, a man Robb thought he would have never seen again...

His own younger brother.

"Bran?" he whispered, scarcely believing his now tear-filled eyes while he looked at his brother, who looked like he had aged only ten years, walking again. Suddenly, everything that had happened to him and their family- father's execution, the war, Theon's betrayal, the Red Wedding, his resurrection… _everything_ …came crashing down upon him, and as he embraced his brother in a tight hug, he did everything possible to prevent the sobs from wracking his body.

"I missed you, too, big brother," Bran gently greeted back as he returned the embrace, his voice sounding less deep and mysterious, and more like a man of the North.

"How is this possible?" Robb asked, wiping away a tear from his eye. "I thought that Theon killed you and Rickon. Hung your burnt corpses above the gates of our home."

"He didn't," Bran corrected him, sighing as he did so. "He killed a couple of farm boys that looked like us. We had escaped north, Rickon went to Last Hearth, whereas I went beyond the Wall to find the Three-Eyed Raven, Brynden Rivers."

"How are you able to walk again?" Robb exclaimed, his voice still shaky. "Maester Luwin told us that your injuries were impossible to heal."

"For a mortal man, in that time and place, aye, they were indeed impossible to heal," Bran nodded solemnly, then smiled in wistful remembrance. "But for an immortal Force-wielder, who apotheosized after his role in the final battle? Well, everything is possible with the Force. Here you stand again, after all," Bran's smile turned into a sad frown. "I remember hearing the details of your death from Sansa, and what they did to your body from Arya," he shook his head. "So many evils were visited upon our family, that by the time we defeated the great darkness only Jon, Arya, and myself were left standing."

Robb's heart fell upon hearing the news. Sansa was dead, too? His sweet, graceful little sister, who loved nothing more than to sing and dance and laugh…cut down by the cold, unfeeling world. Did the gods know no end to their cruelties?

Were they all dead?

Robb shook himself out of his thoughts, and concentrated on Bran, again, before nodding to the tree behind him. "How did the weirwood get here, Bran? How is it that you are here, in this galaxy, as an immortal, powerful being, no less? How are you _walking_?"

Bran rubbed his chin. "It would be far better if I showed you. Or rather…if you talked to our family?"

 _What?_

Robb stuttered again for a few moments. "H-how? Our family is dead, Bran. Lost to the void of Oblivion," he finished, sadly. "And it is all my fault."

Bran chuckled, bemusedly. "Robb, there is no death. There is only the Force. And it flows throw _everything_. The rocks, the trees, the stars…even the sword you carry. And brother, it flows through our family like it does no other," he pointed to the tree. "You are a warg, Robb. You know this already, and I see your skills have surpassed mine when I walked in mortal flesh, although your use of it on sentient life somewhat concerns me. But you are also a greenseer. The _last_ greenseer. You can enter the nexus of the Force and see paths, past, present, and future, that no other Force-sensitive can see without the aid of powerful objects." His brother took his armored hand, and with a strength that surprised Robb, walked him over to the wierwood. "Take your hand, Robb. Lay it upon the tree, and you will learn."

Robb looked at his brother, confusion etching his features. "Learn what?"

Bran's face became like stone and his eyes like hard chips of ice. "Everything," he said, before nodding to Robb, commanding him to do as he asked. Robb took a deep breath and placed his hand upon the white root of the ancient tree.

Almost immediately, he felt himself being carried through time and space, looking at events both strange and familiar.

He saw his father's execution.

He saw Jon beating the pulp out of someone in Bolton garb.

He saw himself being stabbed in the heart by Roose.

He saw Jaime Lannister strangle his own sister to death with his golden hand.

He saw Jon again, wielding a sword that glowed red, lopping the head off what he presumed to be a White Walker with horns.

He saw Arya slitting Walder Frey's throat.

He saw Bran's fall from the Broken Tower.

He saw Theon save his sister from being riddled with arrows.

He saw a silver-haired woman on the back of a mighty black dragon, commanding it to burn thousands upon thousands of undead.

He saw Kanan and Ezra face off against a black armored warrior wielding a red lightsaber.

He saw hundreds of armored Mandalorians kneeling before Sabine, who was wearing her own armor decorated in the colors of her house.

He saw Bridger pick up an ancient mask.

He saw a blond haired young man and the black armored warrior from before, now unmasked and pale.

He saw an impossibly large battle station firing on a helpless planet, obliterating it in an instant.

He saw two Jedi warriors clash on a burning world, their sapphire blades contrasting to the crimson and onyx landscape.

He saw a woman on her deathbed giving birth to twins, a boy, and a girl.

He saw the Imperial cog burn, a phoenix rising out of the ashes.

He saw a pair of cold, blue eyes, and a lifeless planet covered in ice and snow.

Finally, he felt himself land in a green meadow. The sky was a familiar shade of dark blue, the air crisp and cool, and around this meadow stood a mighty forest, evergreen with pine and crimson with heart trees.

And in the center of this idyllic paradise, sitting and laughing and running and playing….

…was his family.

His pack.

He walked- no, stumbled, rather- over to them, his feet picking up speed and his breath shortening with every step until at last he breathlessly embraced his wife.

"Talisa," he sobbed, the dam of his emotions now fully broken. "I'm here, my love. I'm here."

"Robb," she soothed her weeping husband. "Shhh, it's alright, my dear."

He refused to let go of her, wanting to hold on forever in fear of her being ripped from him again until a strong, calloused hand on his shoulder caused him to pause and turn around.

He stared into the face of his proud, just father, his dutiful, fierce mother, a much older Arya and Jon, the latter looking older than even their lord father, wild Rickon, sweet Sansa, gentle Hodor, and a boy who could not have been older than two.

His own son.

Tears still brimming his eyes, he looked around at his pack assembled around him. "How is this possible?" he asked, his voice now hoarse. "I died and saw nothing. I landed in a strange place, with none of you there around me," he turned to Jon and Arya. "How are you old and grey? What in the name of the old gods is going on?"

Jon chuckled slightly. "Well, brother, that's what happens when you pass at the ripe old age of seventy-five."

 _Seventy-five?_

"Seventy-five? What in the blazes are you talking about? It's only been twelve years since my rebirth into the galaxy!" Robb replied, feeling more and more confused.

Arya frowned. "Typical of Bran to keep something a secret," she sighed. "Robb, you didn't travel to a different…dimension…or whatever. You were sent forward eight thousand years in time."

Robb's legs dropped out from underneath him, and he almost fell backward, if not for the strong hands of his father and Jon easing him down into a sitting position so he could catch his breath. He had been sent forwards in time eight thousand years, and had not landed in a completely different world like he had thought for all these years? He didn't know whether to laugh, to cry, or do both.

In the end, he could do neither.

All he could do was look at them all with a broken, sorrowful expression.

"I failed you, all," he whimpered, feeling less like the man he became, and more like the boy he once was. "I fought for our family, and I only ended up bringing ruin to you all."

"Robb," his father began, in his fatherly tone of voice. "You did not betray our family. You did not burn Winterfell to the ground, or massacre your own men at the Twins. You were not responsible for the outbreak of the war, nor were you responsible for the sins of those truly responsible."

"But I trusted Theon," he replied brokenly. "I trusted my generals, and in my arrogance and pride, I didn't see the daggers in their smiles. I chose you over my kingdom," he said to Talisa, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder whilst his mother knelt beside him. "And because I chose you over my people, I killed us all. And now I'm back," he looked around for an answer, his dejectedness at long last surfacing. "Why?"

"What does it matter?" Jon interjected. "You're alive, again. You go on, and fight for as long as you can, and clean up as much shit as you can."

Robb shook his head. "I thought I knew how to do that, but I don't. Jon, I've done horrible things just to survive; murdered, stole, extorted people. I've even _tortured_ a man with my powers," he shook, remembering well several instances where he had used his warging powers, first discovered a few months after his rebirth, to ill-effect, including his torment of that Imperial walker pilot. "I failed."

"Good," his mother replied, softly. "Now, go fail again, my son."

"How?" he asked again, looking around for another answer.

"By accepting these 'Specters' as your new pack," his father answered him, in a tone that brokered no argument, the way only Eddard Stark could. "Remember what I taught you, Robb. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies…"

"…but the pack survives," he finished, slowly gaining some of his composure back. "I honestly don't know if I can do that. It's been so long since I trusted anyone."

"Then start now." his wife commanded, cupping his face with her hands. "Robb, you cannot go on being forever broken. You must make yourself whole. Promise me, Robb," she asked, wiping a tear from his eye. "Promise me that you will move on with your life."

"I will, Talisa," Robb promised, though it sounded hollow in his ears. "I promise you, for the sake of our family and our son."

"Good," she gave him a tearful smile, then let go of his face. "It is time for you to go, Robb."

"Go?" he replied in confusion. Suddenly, everything began to fade out, as his family waved at him. Everything soon began to disappear, as he felt himself being pulled back to the weirwood tree.

"We will always be with you, my son." He heard his father's voice echo in his mind. "We are one with the Force, and the Force is with you, always."

He soon found himself back at the weirwood, staring at Bran, who was holding some sort of pyramid-shaped object.

"No!" Robb cried frantically. "Let me go back! I want to be with them!" He tried to touch the tree again, only to find that it would not let him go back.

"It doesn't work like that, Robb," the older Bran shook his head sadly. "If I left you in the netherworld for too long, you'd slowly start to fade, not just in body, but also in spirit. You'd eventually become something nameless and shambling, unable to remember yourself or others."

Robb cast his eyes down. "But I was _home_ , Bran," he attempted to explain. "I was with my wife and my son, with mother and father. With Jon, and Arya, and Sansa, and Rickon."

Bran shook his head, again. "Your home is not there, Robb," he rebuked, placing the pyramidal object in a nook on the tree. "Your home is now with the crew of the _Ghost_. Let them in, Robb. You cannot afford to shut yourself in and play the bitter loner, anymore," Bran now stood in front of him, looking at him, and through him. His brother-called-Bendu sighed and rubbed his chin "I have seen many paths to the end of this war with the Mad Emperor. Many of these paths involve suffering, pain, but all of them revolve around a few key figures; Bridger, Wren, you, the Son of Skywalker, and Vader, to name a few." Bran pointed up towards the sky. "To liberate the galaxy from Palpatine's grasp, Robb, you must find our homeworld. There, you will find the keys needed to break the back of this so-called Empire."

"Where is our homeworld?" Robb asked him, to which Bran wearily shook his head.

"I cannot tell you that, Robb. I can only show you the road to your destination, you must traverse the path yourself. And you must do so relatively quickly," his voice became like iron. "The mad fool Palpatine has unleashed something in the Unknown Regions, something that can and will wipe out all life in this galaxy if not stopped. Something…familiar..." Bran looked towards the entrance of the cave. "You must be leaving. Your pack needs you."

"What about you?" Robb asked him. He didn't particularly feel like losing his only remaining family member.

"I am an immortal Force-wielder, Robb," Bran laughed bemusedly at him. "I go where I please and do what I want. Do not trouble yourself with me," he nodded, then transformed into his raven state and flew out of the cave, but not before giving one last farewell. "Remember, Robb, the Force will be with you- we will be with you, always."

It was sometime later that a renewed Robb Stark stepped out of the cave into Atollon's desert, the night sky painted black and blue against the dull red hues of the sand spires. Robb looked towards the moon, his pendant in his left hand, and his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He wondered if Palpatine had gotten his message, yet? That no matter what the tyrant threw at them, it would never break the sons of winter. That his days were numbered, and sooner or later, his head would be rotting on a spike for all to see. He looked down at the pendant in his hand, the clasp he had retained from all those years ago, and smiled in remembrance, and for the first time, hope for the future.

"C'mon, let's go home. Our family is waiting for us."

 **A/N: Yay! Another chapter is done.**

 **So, Robb has learned his brother is a shapeshifting, immortal Force-wielder, and that he actually hasn't been transported to another dimension, rather, he jumped forward in time 8,000 years from the Red Wedding. Hopefully, the plot twists paid off.**

 **As you can see, I am setting more plot twists and turns up. For whom and how, that is for me to answer, and for you to speculate.**

 **Now, Robb will learn to accept his new pack, but that doesn't mean his ruthless streak will go away. He was raised in a medieval society, after all, one that is far more brutal and chaotic than the one presented in Star Wars.**

 **Also, I've seen the new clips for "Trials of the Darksaber", and I must say, Sabine and Ezra have a lot more in common than previously thought, and that Kanan is right for being hard on her, especially when she thought she was being clever by using that repulsor.**

 **I haven't decided on which POV to go with next. I am thinking either Pelleon, Sloane, Vader. Now, if I go with Pelleon, first, it WILL tie heavily to what we saw in Hondo's POV. Actions do have consequences, after all, and Robb's** _ **will**_ **have consequences.**

 **Till the next, and remember, the Long Night is coming…**

… **and the dead come with it.**


	9. Sloane I

There was something about hyperspace that was, oddly enough, soothing for Rae Sloane, Vice Admiral and Commander of the Imperial Fifth Systems Fleet.

The kaleidoscopic hues of blues, blacks, and whites, all swirling and dancing like a whirlpool near the shore of a northern coast, reminded Rae of something out of a painting. Chaotic, yet orderly, in its own way. Blue also reminded her, however, of a most frustrating, yet intruding, opponent- the former Jedi Padawan Kanan Jarrus.

She had met the younger man years ago, on Gorse, posing as one of Palpatine's agents. Incidentally enough, he had helped her expose a conspiracy involving the local Count, but that did not mean she had to trust the man, let alone regard him as an ally, as she had come to find out was a terrorist and a fugitive.

But the crimes committed by himself and his little crew didn't compare to the atrocities perpetrated by that butcher, the mysterious and bloodthirsty Grey Wolf.

She had seen the after-action reports. Entire squads on Lothal and several other worlds had gone missing during their patrols. Officers were dragged off during the night, and when the rescue teams had found them, they found grisly sights; heads of Imperial personnel, lined up alongside roads, gates, or stuck near monuments on pikes, with chilling messages written in the blood of his victims. It had gotten bad enough on Lothal at one point that entire companies were becoming borderline mutinous, refusing to go out on patrol where they were sure a monster was waiting to take them out, predictably leading to a rise in insurgent activity on the planet.

Oh, Pryce and Tarkin both had tried the usual methods, of course. Riot control, brutal suppression, and even scorching entire villages, all to find just one man. Rae snorted in contempt. There were times when the rod had to be required to maintain peace and security, true enough, but it seemed more and more that nearly everyone in the Empire, His Grace included, was forgetting that there was a carrot part of the equation, too. Rae didn't like the Rebellion; they were committed to bringing back a corrupt, damned near anarchic system that was responsible for so much chaos and upheaval in the galaxy, after all, but she saw _why_ a man would be pushed into extremism- keep prodding him too far, he loses his fear of you, decides he has nothing left to lose, and starts slitting throats, preferably _yours_. No, it was far better to temper the rod with the carrot, the iron fist with a velvet glove. A ruler, in her opinion, needed to be just and stern when it required, but also merciful and compassionate when needed.

A good example of this would have been from one of her mentors, the Empire's greatest military mind, Grand Admiral Thrawn.

She remembered the lesson well; she attending the Senior Naval Officers Academy on Anaxes, listening to the then-Fleet Admiral give a lecture on strategy and operational doctrine. Most of her fellow classmates were either senatorial brats, only getting in due to their wealthy connections, or piss-pots who brown-nosed their way into the academy. Only herself and two other students, Gilad Pelleon and Voss Parack, were there by any sort of merit, at all, and had thus made an impression upon the admiral, or so he said. She had learned much about the finer points of logistics and strategy, then, but the greatest part of his lesson was at the end when a student had asked him what to do when conquering an opponent. The answer he gave stuck with her to this day.

"When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back on their feet. Elsewise, no man will ever bend his knee before you, and any fool who screams 'I am your king' is no true king."

She had applied that philosophy ever since, with every foe she subdued If they surrendered, she helped them back to their feet, addressed their grievances, and generally turned them from enemies into allies. If they did not surrender, they were put to the sword as to no longer trouble the system, and galaxy, any further.

But this reason was not why she was out here, in the far reaches of the Outer Rim near Unknown Space, to conquer other worlds and bring them into the Empire's glorious fold. No, the reason her fleet was here was due to an urgent, top-secret matter.

A matter that was given to her by Lord Vader himself.

She had met the dark warrior and right hand of the Emperor only once when she was still a cadet aboard the _Defiance_ , and she saw firsthand what the ruthless Dark Lord of the Sith was capable of when he had executed her training instructor Pell Baylo for treason.

Needless to say, the cyborg Sith Lord terrified the kriff out of her.

The Emperor scared her even more so. Oh sure, His Grace had come off as congenial and friendly to her, if not without a sarcastic wit, but staring into those piercing yellow eyes convinced her that he had more cruelty in his ring finger than even Vader had in his entire body.

"You seem to be rather on edge, ma'am," the captain of her flagship, Gordon Uthbar, pointed out as her flagship, the Star Destroyer _Ultimatum_ , continued to sail through hyperspace towards its coordinates, a long-forgotten system in the Outer Rim known only to a few in the brass and the scientific division of the Imperial Military, snapping her out of her thoughts for the moment. "You haven't said a word ever since Lord Vader gave us this mission."

Rae said nothing for a moment, contemplating on what to say, before finally giving a response.

"I don't like it, Gordon," she replied, her voice terse as they neared ever closer to their destination. "We should be supporting the Grand Admiral's campaign against the rebels in the outer systems- the _true_ threat, may I remind you. Instead, we are stuck here doing some errand for Lord Vader, who I am sure has more pressing matters to attend to, currently." She quipped. "What could be so important here that it warrant's the attention of HIGHCOM, the spooks, and the Ruling Council, all at the same time?"

"I don't honestly know, ma'am," Gordon replied respectfully and truthfully. "But if you recall, Lord Vader was _very_ adamant about keeping this an utmost secret. Whatever the egg-heads found on that rock has everyone tight-lipped, almost as much as that damned battle station Director Krennic keeps wanking off to."

Rae had to suppress a smirk. It was well known many of the old-breed, or rather those who were privy to the knowledge, like Gordon was, were very much disdainful of Director Orson Krennic's pet project, Project Stardust as it was known to meddlesome interlopers, the Death Star to those who were aware of the weapon's true nature, calling it a waste of resources and personnel in private, away from the prying ears of the ISB spooks and Inquisitors alike.

This was the one area Rae had to disagree with her friend and subordinate; if the Death Star was what it took to finally secure peace and prosperity in the galaxy once and for all, then it was worth all the cost in credits and manpower. Her family had lived through the horrors of the Clone Wars, surviving a Separatist invasion of her homeworld, Ganthel, during General Grievous' Core campaign. She remembered living off rats as the city was reduced to rubble, and as the bodies of troopers, droids, and civilians littered the streets. She remembered the aftermath of that battle, where the Republic and the Jedi had been too weakened to re-establish order on the planet, enabling the rise of slavers and pirates. The Empire, on the other hand, was quick to stabilize the situation, driving the scum off the world, hanging the criminals who dared beg for their lives after enslaving and torturing so many people. And yet, for all its military and economic might, the Empire couldn't conquer everything…yet.

No, the Death Star was a _necessity_. A very much evil one, in Rae's view, but if it took the deaths of thousands of malcontents to secure the lives of trillions for a better tomorrow, then in her view, it was worth it.

"We're coming up on LX-777, now, ma'am," one of the ensigns reported, and soon enough, the blue tunnel of hyperspace gave way to white streaks and eventually regular stars, as the fleet pulled out of hyperspace and into real-space.

The planet before them looked the same as many other worlds; azure, blue oceans, swirling white clouds, mixtures of green and brown earth covering the planets four continents, and two polar ice caps. What was unique about this world was the fact that it had been uninhabited for over five thousand years. No one knew quite what happened, but many of the Empire's top scientists believed some sort of ecological disaster had wiped out the planet's ecosystem, and whatever sentient life was located on that world, taking millennia to recover to a habitable state.

"We're receiving a transmission from the planet's surface, ma'am," the communications officer informed. "Priority clearance: Ion-One-Gamma."

Rae froze where she stood. So, Lord Vader had sent her here to meet with a member of the Inquisition? What would a Jedi-hunter be doing out here, in the middle of nowhere?

She chose not to voice her surprise, and instead nodded to the communications officer. She turned to Gordon. "Captain, you have the bridge. If this little meeting requires me to travel to the planet's surface, I want the fleet to continue to hold this position. Meanwhile, I must have a chat with this Inquisitor."

Gordon saluted her sharply, which she returned, and then turned sharply on her heel to walk towards the communications room. Reaching the holographic display table, she punched in the priority code and the designation number of the person, or persons, calling her.

The image that popped up on the holoprojector was that of a human male in his early forties, his hair black, and silver, with a neatly groomed beard covering his face. His smile was toothy, for the lack of a better word. He appeared to be charismatic, a smooth-talker, and his eyes, she would reckon, would be quite inviting, if not for being colored the typical sulfuric yellow of those who adhered to the Dark Side of the Force.

This was the new Grand Inquisitor, Malleus, formerly known as the Seventh Brother.

"Ah, there you are, Admiral," the Grand Inquisitor began, a honeyed voice seeping out of his mouth. "I was wondering whom Lord Vader would send. Lo and behold, he sent the woman who brought down Count Vidian."

"Grand Inquisitor," she greeted back, her voice now void of emotion. She certainly didn't need one of the Emperor's pet psychopaths reading her emotions. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Forgive my surprise, but I certainly did not expect a member of the Inquisition out here on LX-777, let alone the head of the order."

"I go wherever my Lord bids me to go, as do you, Vice Admiral." the dark-sider countered. "And in matters such as this, it was only natural that Lord Vader sent me here."

"With all due respect, Grand Inquisitor, what matters would those be?" Rae asked him, respectfully and patiently. Impudence would not serve her here, not if she wanted to be on the receiving end of strangulation through the Force.

Malleus shook his head coyly. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Admiral. You and I both know that I can't discuss matters of such importance and secrecy over a simple hologram. I will await your arrival in a standard hour, at my base camp. I will transmit the coordinates to your shuttle."

With that, the Dark Jedi closed the link and left Rae Sloane feeling very confused, and somewhat alarmed.

 _What in the kriff is going on down there?_

* * *

The cold, crisp air of LX-777's northern moors on the westernmost continent was evident to Rae, chilling her to the bone even though it was supposed to be summer, here. Apparently, the research team sent here had established several camps around the planet, with their base camp here in the north, near an old, foreboding castle.

Looking at the castle, Rae wasn't even sure the word _old_ even began to describe it.

The ancient fortress had to be tens of thousands of years old and looked like it would be there for thousands more. The castle was huge, easily twice the size of an _Arquitens_ -class light cruiser, and had a chilling look to it, with carvings of fierce wolves decorating its gateways and walls.

She didn't know why, but something about this place seemed…mystical, as if it were out of an old fantasy novel.

"Are you Force-sensitive, perchance?" The Grand Inquisitor asked her, also fascinated by the ancient castle nearby.

She shook her head. "No, sir. But there is something curious about that place, I have to admit."

"I am inclined to agree with you. When I first arrived on this alien planet with the research team, I felt the power of the Force reside most strongly with this place, and so I ordered them to set the main camp, here," he pointed out as they began walking towards the fortress, flanked by several Death Troopers, who were becoming more and more common as security personnel for top-secret projects. "The excavations into the fortress haven't disturbed much. I wanted this place to be left intact as much as possible."

"What have you found, sir?" she asked him, making a mental note that he didn't seem as violently destructive as many of the other Inquisitors she previously worked with were.

"Ah, several items, my friend. But I think it's best to _show_ you rather than tell," he proclaimed as they walked through the gateway, the actual gates having long since rotted away to nothing.

They stepped into the largest of the buildings, and into a room that the veteran admiral could only assume was a throne room of sorts, with a portable holoprojector and several tables in the center. At the very end of the hall, on a dais of black stone, sat a grey and white throne, decorated with the same motif as the carvings outside; that of a wolf. And on the top of this throne, words were carved into it. She couldn't make out the words, as they were written in a different alphabet other than Aurebesh, yet something about them made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

It was as if she had seen those words and that sigil, before.

"Why am I here, Grand Inquisitor?" she finally asked, the cold, ancient fortress finally getting to her. "Why did you bring me out here to this desolate place, on this desolate rock?"

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. "Yes…" he began. "I suppose it's finally time that I tell you what's going on here." He motioned to several scientists, who promptly brought the holoprojector to life. "About six months ago, our excavations at the ruined wall to the far north yielded several discoveries, the most prominent of which was this," he started, pulling up an image of an obsidian dagger, jagged and shimmering with ebony light.

"An obsidian weapon?" she asked, a bit confused. "I'm afraid I don't see the significance of such a primitive tool."

The Inquisitor smirked. "That, my dear, is because you do not perceive things the way that one who is sensitive to the Dark Side of the Force would, like I do. And this weapon…this weapon was _oozing_ dark energy. I took it before Lord Vader, and he granted me permission to study it. I sent it off to our research laboratory in the Unknown Regions, at Vector Prime."

Rae sputtered. "Vector Prime?" she repeated, making sure she heard right. "That's all the way in the middle of unknown space, smack dab in the middle of those Vong savages!"

Rae was nothing but a student of history, and she knew well of the nomadic, tribal barbarians known as the Yuuzhan Vong, whose invasion into the galaxy three thousand years ago, unified the galaxy against a common foe, and resulted in three hundred trillion dead beings, a thousand worlds ravaged beyond hope, and the near-extinction of the Vong themselves.

"That's precisely why we put it there," Malleus defended. "Those savages are, or were, too busy fighting and raiding each other, leaving our researchers to work in relative peace," he scratched his beard. "The progress was going well for around three months, and then…" he trailed off, a look of grave concern passing over his features. "And then, the reports stopped coming in. It was only in the last month that I found out what happened."

He pressed a button on the holoprojector, and it immediately cut to a video feed from a laboratory on Vector Prime, dated from about three months ago…

 _Various technicians and doctors in lab coats were gathered around a large, cryogenic tube of some kind._

" _Of all test subjects in Project: Blackwing," the lead technician was beginning to record. "Test Subject 117A seems to react well to the dagger. I am cautiously optimistic that the Grand Inquisitor's project in creating an army of Force-sensitive warriors for his Imperial Majesty will yield results greater than we've expected. However, we must be cautious."_

" _Sir!" one of the technicians yelled. "Our subject is waking up from cryosleep."_

" _Excellent!" the lead scientist exclaimed. "Let's have a look, shall we?"_

 _The researchers all gathered around the cryogenic chamber and began the warming sequence._

 _Warning lights blared, the chamber opened, and out of the pod stepped out a being that once looked to be a Zabrak male._

 _Once._

 _Instead of being the proud skin color of his people, he was utterly pale, the flesh itself looked to be made of ice._

 _Instead of his eyes being either green or brown, like most Zabraks, the being's eyes were bright, cold blue._

 _And it did not speak._

 _Not when the scientists were ogling it, congratulating themselves on a job well done._

 _Not when the being suddenly grabbed the nearest technician and snapped her neck, turning the cheers into screams of horror._

 _Not when it coldly slaughtered all the scientists in there, before raising its hands…_

 _And raised the scientists back up, but not as humans. Rather, they became mindless creatures, driven by only a desire to kill and serve their new master._

Malleus promptly cut the video feed, as Rae fought back the urge to throw the gruel she had for breakfast, earlier. She didn't know what to say, or believe, now. Hell, she was almost ready to believe that a new Emperor would pop out from under a bridge.

"The entire station on Vector Prime was lost," the henchman of Darth Vader informed nonchalantly. "The entire planet became locked in some sort of ice age. Soon after that, we started hearing rumors that entire Vong clans, domains, even, were disappearing without a trace. There have even been rumors of those savages uniting again under a single leader," he sighed. "I had hoped to present the Emperor with a new type of super-soldier, one that would not have cost near as much money as that damned Death Star that fool Krennic keeps on insisting as the 'final solution', and one that would have yielded better results. Instead, we may have a huge problem on our hands."

 _One borne of your arrogance_ , Rae thought bitterly, as the Grand Inquisitor turned back to face the window.

"I have already informed Lord Vader on this matter," he spoke, more quietly on the matter than he had before. "And now I am being summoned to help deal with the rebel threat in the Outer Rim. Obviously, this is to be my punishment for my failure."

 _Vader must still have some use for you_ , Rae snidely thought, _or you would have been dead already._

"What of my role in this matter?" she asked instead, keeping a lid on her thoughts. She didn't particularly entertain the notion of being sliced in half by a lightsaber.

Malleus rounded back to her, again. "Your mission, handed down by Lord Vader, himself, will be to counter any move made by the Vong- prevent them from uniting and striking at us while we are preoccupied with the rebellion," he commanded. "And ultimately, put a stop to whatever madness we have unleashed before it can grow in size," he closed the distance on her, and Rae felt distinctly uncomfortable when his eyes bore into hers, a few mere inches between their faces. "I know your thoughts, Admiral. You think that the 'war' with the rebels is far more important than this." He waved his finger. "One; your mentor, Thrawn, will handle the Rebellion. Two; it ultimately doesn't matter who rules from Coruscant, when dead men and savages come invading from the east."

With that, the Inquisitor turned and walked out of the keep, leaving behind a very confused, and afraid, Rae Sloane.

* * *

As she walked out of the keep, she saw a bird fly past her, straight on into what appeared to be a tunnel of some sort. The bird kept cawing at her, beckoning her to follow further inside. Despite her mind screaming at her to be cautious, her curiosity got the better of her, and so she followed the bird into the tunnel, which appeared to be a crypt of some sort. Her guards around her, tough as they were, were beginning to get fidgety in such a place, and it was easy to see why.

Dozens- hundreds- of statues lined the walls, each one of a human king, a wolf near his side, and a sword on his lap. The statues seemed to judge her harshly, each one condemning her as someone unworthy, and all the while, she swore she heard a strange, low chanting.

 _King. King. Winter._

 _King. King. Bridge._

 _Queen. Queen. Warrior._

 _Jedi. Jedi. Savior._

 _Ice. Fire. Ice. Fire._

The chanting in her mind got louder and louder, as her guards became increasingly nervous, informing her that they should start making headway back to the shuttle. But she couldn't stop- her feet seemed to command her to move further into the tunnels.

 _KING. KING. WINTER._

 _KING. KING. BRIDGE._

 _QUEEN. QUEEN. WARRIOR._

 _JEDI. JEDI. SAVIOR._

 _ICE AND FIRE. ICE AND FIRE. ICE AND FIRE._

It was a long, antagonizing moment longer when they finally reached what the damned bird was leading them to.

The statue the bird landed on, next to one holding a fiery sword and one with a mask, was another king, but this one was different.

The grim-faced, granite statue looked the facsimile of a young, fair man, his eyes eternally set in a foreboding pose, as if watching over this tomb along with the rest of his forebears and descendants. The statue seemed to look right at her, judging her silently. Something about him, however, seemed...familiar...

 _ **YOUNG WOLF.**_

 _ **GREY WOLF.**_

 _ **KING.**_

 _ **KING.**_

 _ **KING.**_

She looked at the bird on last time, and her eyes opened wide in shock, as she gasped out her horror.

The raven had three eyes.

The last thing she saw before passing out was her guards running towards her in alarm. But that was not the last thing she heard before losing consciousness.

" _ **THE KING IN THE NORTH!"**_

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter done! Hooray!**

 **Alright, I ultimately decided to go with Rae Sloane, due to the fact that she's actually perfect for this fic. She's a character I don't see too much in SW fanfics, and her character description in media paints her like one of the few decent Imperials there are.**

 **I wanted the audience to see an Imperial's point of view; i.e someone good who's fighting for the wrong cause for what she believes to be righteous reasons. Many people forget that while we can see the Empire is obviously evil, many within can't. They only see that Palpatine ended the war, brought an era of peace and security to the Core Worlds, and got rid of the warmongering space wizards. Rae is one of those people, and as such values stability and order to be greater than liberty and independence.**

 **I'll be the first to admit, my OC, Malleus, is kind of poorly developed at this point. That should change the moment he comes on scene into the Galactic Civil War proper. His motives, besides ostensibly protecting the Empire and galaxy from his massive fuck up, are unclear. He is a dark-sider trained in the Sith arts, after all…**

 **Originally, I wasn't planning on having the White Walkers making a comeback. As one pointed out, "The Night's King can't read a manual to save his life". However, after reading up on Project Blackwing and Undead Troopers, as well as tying this crossover in with the EU, they were a threat that I truly could not pass up. How the new Night's King will manage to expand his forces? You'll find out in a later chapter.**

 **Till the next chapter, and remember, the Long Night is coming…**

… **and the dead come with it.**

 **ETA: Made a few corrections to this chapter, based on the advice of one of the reviewers.**


	10. Hera I

Hera was exhausted.

Between the nearly botched mission at Reklam Station, the constant demands of a growing rebellion, and the increasing stakes her crew was often put in, she was beginning to feel the wear and tear, even more so than when they lost Ahsoka.

Perhaps…she did overreact when she demoted Ezra back down to Lieutenant and stripped him of his command for the time being. After all, he did see his team back in one piece, and he delivered those Y-Wing bombers to General Dodonna as promised. On the other hand, though, he had deliberately ignored her direct orders to wait for reinforcements, and thus had nearly gotten Rex killed. Not to mention he _did_ lose the _Phantom_ , which did nothing to ease her headache.

She didn't know. Maybe she was being far too hard on him. Maybe he needed to learn some more about the dangers of recklessness.

 _Fat chance of that_ , she thought with a wistful and affectionate smile. _Look at the man he considers his second father._

Currently, Kanan and Ezra were on a supply run to Arkanis, leaving the _Ghost_ to herself, Chop, Sabine, Zeb, and Robb, while Rex was busy training the new recruits coming in. She silently wished, though, that they'd find a replacement for the _Phantom_ , soon. Perhaps they'd hit a stroke of luck, and find an old shuttle that could use a quick fix up and one of Sabine's paint jobs.

" _Brt wort wurt burt bort,"_ Chopper bleeped, coming up behind Hera as she was leaning in the _Ghost's_ pilot chair.

"Hm?" she asked tiredly, finally noticing the feisty little droid. "Oh, sorry Chopper. I was…" she yawned. "…just trying to get some rest."

" _Blllllrrrrrrtttttt wort wort wort!_ " Chopper responded, waving his mechanical appendages around for dramatic effect. Hera rolled her eyes at her oldest friend.

"Well, of course, you don't need rest. I do. Besides, you can't tell me the back to back missions haven't drained your power cells," she countered, smirking when the astromech made an annoyed sounding beep.

" _Bort wut roto ree to rut,_ " Chopper informed her. Hera's eyebrows shot up in amazement.

"Really? Mr. 'Grouchy, grim, and bitter' is actually training with our resident Mandalorian artist?" she repeated, becoming intrigued at the notion. "I've got to see this."

She quickly got up, ignoring her aching, protesting muscles, and hurried down the ladder to the cargo bay.

"All I'm saying, Lady Wren, is that you might be better at marksmanship, electro-mechanics, and linguistics than everyone else on this ship, but I bet good money that I can beat you any day of the week in a sword-fight. Double if it were matters involving strategy and tactics," Robb was boasting. Hera noted that he wasn't being grim, serious, and generally a prick to everyone else on the ship. Instead, he was being…congenial.

Friendly.

The most foreign thing about all of this was the look in Robb's eyes; his blue eyes weren't their usually cold, hard sapphires.

Rather, they had become warmer, softer azure seas.

"Oh-ho. Is that right, 'your grace'?" the young Mandalorian challenged back, making a mock bow before him. "Then, by all means, prove it."

Robb shrugged, grabbing a couple of wooden swords that Kanan and Zeb had made a few years back and handing one to Sabine.

"Alright, little one," he teased, earning a glare from the defiant warrior. "Rules are; three hits win the match. You beat me, you get to paint my room. I beat you, you get to teach me Mando'a. Deal?"

Sabine nodded, and the two saluted with their swords. Robb immediately went to a low guard position, his sword angled down and to the front, while Sabine adopted a high guard, her blade angled above her head.

Sabine struck first, her blow aimed for Robb's head. Robb parried the blow, sidestepping as he did, and brought his blade to her midsection. The younger warrior blocked it just in time, and then another one as Robb swung his sword around and aimed another strike at her shoulder.

"You do not strike, my lady!" he mocked, smirking as he kept up the offensive, "You fail!" He then switched to a defensive posture, letting Sabine land blow after blow against his sword.

"You're the one who's about to flail, _di'kut_!" Sabine cursed in Mando'a, clearly getting frustrated as Robb parried, batted aside, or just flat out avoided her blows.

"Says the girl who's failing to even land a hit on me." He jested as he sidestepped another blow and landed one of his own on Sabine's back. "That's one. Two more, and I win the match."

Hera heard Sabine curse under her breath, as Robb immediately went back on the attack, this time not letting her catch a break. All it took was for Sabine to slip up, missing what should have been an easy parry in Hera's eyes and winced when Robb hit her again on the shoulder.

"Two," he said, again adopting a defensive posture. "I hope you haven't forgotten how to speak your own native tongue," he mocked.

With a wordless battle cry, Sabine launched herself at her mock opponent, raining blow after blow down against Robb, who just kept avoiding and dodging her strikes, treating it as a game. Hera recognized what he was doing easily enough; he was getting into her head- messing with her mind so that she would make sloppier, more frequent mistakes.

And it was working.

The young daughter of Mandalore slipped up when she overcommitted on one strike, missing Robb by a parsec. When she corrected and turned around, her eyes shot up in surprise, for Robb's blade was already at her throat.

"Three," he smirked. "I win."

Sabine frowned at him, before shoving her wooden sword into Zeb's hands, much to the Lasat's confusion, before huffing at the former king.

"Fine. I'll teach you how to speak the language."

Robb nodded in appreciation. "Thank you. And if you desire, I can teach you how to improve your sword work," he smirked again. "Who knows? You train with me long enough, you might even be able to knock Ezra down a few pegs. Wipe that cocky grin off his face."

A ghost of a smile graced Sabine's lips. "Alright, Stark. You have a deal. I teach you Mando'a, you teach me how to get better with a sword."

Robb nodded again, as the two shook hands. The pair soon parted ways, and a few moments later, Hera found herself conversing with Robb in the cargo hold, along with Chopper.

"So, where did you learn to fight like that?" Hera asked him. "I'm pretty sure Sabine's old clan trained her in some blade-work, and yet you beat her like she was a novice."

Robb shrugged. "My father taught me, along with our master-at-arms, Rodrick Cassel. I've trained with steel ever since I was seven, to be frank," he informed them. "I was good enough with the sword, I suppose, but Jon…now, he was a true swordsman," he said, a smile full of memory graced the son of Winterfell's lips. "I daresay that he was nearly as good as some of the legendary knights such as Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister."

Hera was curious, now. "What was your family like? Truly?"

Robb sighed in contentment. "Well, Arya was, like I said a month ago, free-spirited, rebellious, and wild; she would have gotten on well with Sabine, I imagine. Bran was just as curious and free, although he later grew more somber after being crippled. Rickon, now he was the wild one, and I suspect underneath the fiercest of us all. Sansa was graceful, made friends easily, and saw the good in just about everyone. She loved singing, dancing, and just being the best lady she could be, in general," he looked up towards the cockpit, his smile faltering a little. "Jon was the spitting image of our lord father, in both appearance and personality; he was grim, just, caring, and dutiful. He always felt like an outcast, though. Our mother didn't think highly of him being a 'bastard'," his smile then truly soured. "The less I speak of Theon, the better."

Hera nodded and kept her mouth shut, understanding what Robb meant. It wasn't easy dealing with betrayal, especially by those considered family.

Kanan, Sabine, and herself had experiences in that department.

Robb's chuckle broke her out of her musings. "There was this one time that Jon, Theon, and I decided to pull a prank on Sansa, so we had Jon cover himself in flower and hide in the crypts, while Theon and myself got the younger ones, telling them that 'we found something wonderful down there'. We head down to the crypts, past the statue of Torrhen Stark, when Jon jumps out and tries to scare everyone."

Her curiosity piqued again. "Did it work?" she asked.

"With Sansa…definitely. She ran out of the crypt screaming her bloody head off. Bran expressed amazement, Rickon was still fast asleep, and Arya…" he began chuckling again "…she just turns to me with this frustrated expression on her face, points to the entrance, where Sansa had run out of, and says in the most annoyed voice I heard from her, 'You're scaring the baby.'"

Hera began to chuckle and then began to laugh along with Robb, failing to hear the laughter of the remaining two crew members as they joined them in the hallway. The raucous laughter soon ceased, and Robb's smile faded somewhat.

"That was the day before we heard King Robert was coming to Winterfell. It was a much happier time for all of us, then."

"You had a wonderful family, it sounds to me," Zeb spoke up from behind her, crossing his arms with a warm smile on his face.

Robb's smile returned. "And I have one equally as amazing, now," he admitted. The Twi'lek pilot saw the former king pull his pendant out of his pocket. "My father once told me, long ago, that it is the lone wolf that dies, and the pack that survives. For the longest time after my death and rebirth, I thought him a fool. I, the lone wolf, carried on, while the pack was hunted down and slain. But it was after meeting you all that I began to see the truth in his words." He put the pendant back his pocket. "Alone, each one of you is formidable, but could never take on a lone garrison by yourselves, let alone an empire that stretches across the stars. Together, however, with your hearts and minds set on one purpose, you can bring down even the mightiest foe."

"Your father sounded like a wise man," Sabine observed, though Hera could also detect a slight strain of jealousy and longing in her words. A twang of sorrow and motherly affection shot across her heart. No one on the ship knew the exact details of what had happened between Sabine and her clan, but from what she could tell, they didn't exactly part on speaking terms, and much like Robb, she, too, at first preferred to spend unhealthy amounts of time alone in her room, distrusting everyone on the ship.

She often wondered if any of them knew how similar and _broken_ they all were.

Robb nodded, an affirmative to Sabine's unspoken question. "He was. He was a just, yet kind ruler, and a stern but loving father. He did not primarily rule through fear and hatred, like Tywin Lannister and your Emperor do, although he did have to set an example from time to time. No, he instead was respected and loved, from the common man to his lords, and everywhere else in the realm, they spoke of how just and honorable he was." His face sobered. "And that honor cost him his life." He looked around. "When are we supposed to be back on Atollon, again?"

"In about 24 hours, approximately," Hera replied, also acknowledging his unasked question. "And before you ask- yes. I'm putting the ship on autopilot for now. Force knows we could all use the shut-eye."

"Can't argue with that logic," Zeb agreed, a bit enthusiastically. "With all the missions Sato's been pushing on us, my fur is starting to smell like a Wookiee's backside."

"And that's different from your normal smell _how_ , exactly?" Sabine joked, smirking when Zeb made a half-serious scowl at her before stomping off to bed, muttering something about 'damned snarky teenagers' along the way. "But I've got to agree with him. We've been running ourselves ragged this past month, and I even haven't found the time to paint anything," she complained, before nodding to Hera and Robb. "I'll see you both in the A.M. Night." With that, she sauntered off to her room.

"Night, Sabine," Hera called out to her surrogate daughter, turning back to Robb. "And I hope you're going to get some sleep, as well."

Robb shot his hands up. "Don't worry, Hera. I will." He turned to walk back to his room, but not before giving Hera an affectionate smile.

"You know, Hera, you remind me of my own mother. She was just as fierce and protective as you are when it came to her children," he complimented. "So, trust me when I say that Ezra and Sabine are lucky to have you and Kanan as guardians," he nodded to her. "Good night, Captain."

She nodded back, a smile gracing her lips. "Good night, your grace."

* * *

 _Hera was walking through a palace, or perhaps it was a temple of some sort, on a city-world of trillions of sentient beings._

 _She figured the world to be Coruscant, for she recognized the outline of the Senate Building and 500 Republica in the distance. Therefore, she reasoned, the building she must be walking through was the Imperial Palace, formerly the Jedi Temple of old. She was young when her father took her to see Coruscant, then the beating heart of the Republic, but as the memories came back to her, she could remember where most of the buildings and districts lay._

 _As she continued walking inside the cavernous hallways of the seat of the Empire, she noticed something…odd._

 _Firstly, were the stormtroopers. Normally, one would expect the legions to be armored in all white, or red in the case of the Home Guard, but the color of the plastoid on these troops was tan, with orange and yellow highlights decorating the armor._

 _Secondly was the Royal Guard, who normally would be carrying some sort of polearm and concealing themselves with an intimidating looking mask, according to the briefings provided to her by the loyal bodyguards of Palpatine. These men, however, only wore something similar to a Mandalorian helmet or forwent helmets altogether, and instead of being dressed in blood red and black, they garbed themselves in white cloaks and bronzium plate. The most curious thing, however, was that these men were not wielding force pikes or halberds._

 _They were wielding lightsabers._

 _Thirdly, and perhaps the strangest thing, were the banners hanging from the walls. One would expect the flag of the Galactic Empire to look like it always had these past eighteen or so years; a jet black and stark white cog on a crimson field, intended to intimidate and impress. The flag that hung from the rafters and the balconies now, however, was starkly different._

 _A stylized phoenix, the color of the rising sun, flew against a background of sand, with a wintergreen bar gracing the bottom of the banner._

 _It was then she heard distant cheering, coming from what was obviously the main audience chamber. She walked at a faster pace, curious to see what the hub-bub was about in this place. A few twists and turns later, despite never having been to the palace before, she soon found herself at her destination._

 _A massive throng of people, ranging from humans to Twi'leks, to Wookiees, and everyone in between, were cheering and chanting. As Hera knew she was in a dream, she could not make out what they were saying…at least, at first._

 _At the far end of the great hall, there sat a throne atop a dais of marble. The throne itself looked monstrous- made from what appeared to be melted steel swords, and seemed as if it wanted to cut the man who sat upon it currently._

 _And the man who sat upon the throne did not look to be Palpatine, who Hera knew to be old and decrepit. Instead, this man was covered head to toe in bronzium plate and grey robes, the highlight of his attire being the mask he wore, which looked battle-scarred and old. To his right stood a man in his fifties, tall and able, a pin of a hand clasping a sword clasped to his doublet. To his left sat a woman in Mandalorian armor, her colors being that of Clan Wren, and a strange-looking lightsaber attached to her belt. She saw the man on the throne of iron take off his mask, his black-bearded, tan face starting to show…_

* * *

 **KER-CLANG**

Hera awoke to the violent rocking of her ship being pulled violently out of hyperspace, and of the klaxon alarms blaring in her ears, as she quickly got up and ran to the door, noticing that the emergency power had come on.

"Ion mine!" She heard Sabine shout in alarmed frustration. "Bastard was waiting for us at the waypoint. Pulled us out with an interdictor field straight into a couple of ion mines."

"Kriffing great!" she heard Zeb yell, as they ran to the cockpit. "All I'm was asking for was once, just karking _once_ , that things go smoothly! But no, it can't ever be kriffing simple, can it?"

"Stow the cussing, Zeb!" Hera ordered. Bickering wouldn't do any good in a situation like this. "We need to think our way out of this mess. I didn't think the Empire used this route, often. And it's well scouted by our forces."

"Because it wasn't," Robb observed calmly. "We aren't being pulled in a belly of a Star Destroyer, nor is a light cruiser moving on an intercept course. There _is_ , however, another freighter that's getting ready to board us."

Just as he finished, they heard a metallic _clang_ near one of the Ghost's airlocks, indicating that, indeed, another craft had coupled with it. The crew exchanged one look at each other, then made a mad dash for the airlock, grabbing their weapons along the way. To her pride, her team got armored up and ready in record time, and soon rounded the corner-

-to find a nervous Chopper surrounded by three old, decrepit service droids wielding blasters, and behind them stood an equally aged Zabrak, his skin black and covered in red, jagged tattoos. His demented smile showed off his yellow, near-rotting teeth, and his sickly yellow eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, gleamed with a madness and desire for vengeance she seldom saw in a man.

"Ah, so our honorable captain and her crew join us," he spoke in a gravelly voice. So, he was an old madman….

Great.

"Please, forgive me for not introducing myself to you," he mocked. "I am Maul, and you and your Jedi friends have quite a few things I seek. Now, please, I really don't wish to harm any of you, but if you do not lay down your arms…then…well…I'll kill all of you, starting with this astromech," Maul threatened, pointing his lightsaber at Chopper's dome, as the droid warbled in alarm.

Hera's eyes widened in recognition. Of course, this must be the former Sith Lord who blinded Kanan and betrayed Ezra. She then narrowed her eyes. Oh, how she would like to make him _pay_ for all the shit he's pulled…

"Begging your pardon," Robb spoke up before Hera could continue that train of thought and end the bastard in front of her. "What is it, exactly your seeking?"

"If I'm not mistaken…Mister…?" Maul began, inquiring to know what his name was before continuing any further.

"Stark," Robb simply replied, crossing his arms and holding his ground. Hera noticed that Robb had put his stoic mask back on, and his eyes were back to being cold sapphires. She knew, from all those months serving with him, was that it meant either one of two things; he was withholding something, or he was plotting to kill you.

For Maul's sake, she hoped it was the later.

"Well, Mister Stark, if I'm not mistaken, you are the hostage, and I am the hostage-taker. So, I frankly do not see how that gives you the right to demand anything of me."

"Not demanding, asking," Robb corrected him. "If it's on matters related to the Force, I could possibly help."

Maul laughed, cruelly and without mirth. "And how could you possibly help me in this matter? What I seek involves the use of Holocrons, one of the Jedi, and the other of the Sith. I hardly expect for someone like you to know something about that," he arrogantly assumed. "But…the Force surrounding you does intrigue me if I had to be honest."

Robb just stared at him. "True," he admitted. "I don't know much in the way regarding the nuances of Jedi and Sith artifacts, knowledge, power, or wisdom, but I do know one thing; I am a greenseer."

Hera didn't know what he had just said, and by the looks of it, neither did Maul.

"A…greenseer?" the former Sith Lord drew slowly, his look equal parts amused and annoyed. "I see. Pray tell, what is…greenseeing, exactly?"

"A Force ability few now possess," Robb calmly explained, and now Hera was curious to see where he was going with this. Truth be told, she didn't know whether Robb was being genuine or telling Maul a lie. "We can see visions of the past, present, and the future far more clearly than other Force-sensitives, without the use of aides like Holocrons," he continued.

Maul rubbed his chin, and to Hera's eye, he looked honestly intrigued.

"Ah. So, I assume your way would be less…risky, then?" he asked him. The Grey Wolf nodded.

"Aye. But it will also take longer. Days, at the worst," Robb pointed out, putting his arms behind his back. "The way I see it, sir, you have two options for you. One promises you something quick and easy, true enough, but it is also potentially fatal. The other will offer the same, or better, results, but at a far lower risk, though it will take longer than the first option," he scratched his beard. "And if one doesn't work, you can always default to the other one. So, either way, you still win."

Maul glowered at him, obviously reminding him of someone. "You know, you sound like a Jedi I fought over the years," he sneered. "I'm beginning to wonder if you aren't related."

Robb shrugged. "Not really. I'm far too ruthless and pragmatic to be a Jedi. Though I still do have a code of honor, if that means anything."

The former Sith appeared to mull it over, rubbing his chin for a few, thoughtful minutes, before finally deigning to respond. "You will come with me, unarmed." He began, wagging a finger in Robb's face, and to the Grey Wolf's credit, he remained as stoic and taciturn as ever, refusing to even so much as blink in Maul's presence.

What he did do, however, was unstrap his sword to his belt and hand it to Maul, also allowing himself to be handcuffed by one of the decrepit old service droids. Maul nodded to the droids, and the marched off into the old freighter with their captive, before Maul turned back to Hera, Robb's sword still in his hands.

"I still want those Holocrons. And I still want to see my apprentice bring them. I will send you the coordinates once we reach our destination," he warned, before turning back, walking to his ship, which a few moments later detached with a _click_ , separating the remaining crew from the now-hostage Robb and his captor.

Hera turned to her crew, her voice filled with iron determination.

"Get Kanan and Ezra on call, now. We're going to meet up with them on Atollon, and find out where Maul took Robb."

"And then?" Zeb asked, his voice full of grim seriousness. Hera looked him in the eye and told everyone what they needed to know with a look. But just for good measure, she spoke her thoughts allowed.

"We are going to wherever he took him, rescue Robb, and ruin whatever Maul's planning. _Nobody_ tries to harm this family. No one."

* * *

 **A/N: Ahhh, so good to be back!**

 **Alright, this is where things start to diverge significantly from canon, and for good reason. Robb must have a reason for being in this story, after all, and not just to sit in the background while canon.**

 **More foreshadowing coming from this story, as you may have noticed. I was honestly debating whether to put the dream sequence in here or not, but then I remembered the significance of dreams from both Martin's work and Lucas' story. Kudos to those who can guess what throne is being referred to in this story, and why it would be used in the main audience chamber in the Imperial Palace.**

 **So, Maul has appeared, and instead of taking the entire crew hostage, he only takes one of them hostage, while threatening to kill every one of them if they don't live up to their end of the bargain. And the crew knows this is no idle threat.**

 **Hopefully, I'm doing the Kanera pairing justice as I am doing the Sabezra pairing in this story.**

 **Finally, a shoutout to my biggest reviewers and supporters; BrutusPrimus, HHunter101, Ahsokafanboy1138, Wikked Grin, ja54591, and especially MandoCommander.**

 **Till the next!**


	11. Robb III

Dathomir was a curious planet, Robb silently mused, if not a dead one.

To be sure, there was life here in abundance. Rancors stalked the strange, red-misted forests, either searching for food, mates, or competition, while their natural prey either scampered off to hide somewhere or openly challenged the beasts if they were strong enough. The trees themselves reminded Robb somewhat of weirwoods, though these trees were black and deathly-looking, by comparison.

However, there were no sentient beings on the planet. No civilization that would respond to them, be it by customs officials or by gunfire. Only the crumbling ruins of once-bustling villages, and the bleached white bones of whatever intelligent life-forms once lived on this planet.

And it seemed Maul knew the reason why.

To Robb, what passed for normal for the buggered former Sith was apparently to be as chatty and threatening as possible, like he never had a friend he _didn't_ end up cutting down in a day of his rotten life. As they got closer to the main village, however, the Sith Lord grew quieter and quieter, as if he were walking through a graveyard.

 _An apt description for such a place_ , Robb mused to himself as he stared at a skull, yellow with age and eternally grinning.

"I take it you know what happened here," Robb asked at long last as they came to the main village, which was now nothing more than burned out huts, overgrown weeds, and more bones. "You've been pretty quiet since we touched down on this rock."

"Yes…" Maul drew out at last, evidently not pleased with his prisoner's apparent disrespect. " _Palpatine_ happened," the former Sith Lord spat, his visage contorted in contempt for the Emperor. "That bastard murdered my brother, slew my mother, _destroyed_ my home, and used me as a weapon to be cast aside once _better_ prospects came into being for him," he seethed, before calming down somewhat.

Robb immediately thought back to all the people who betrayed him or his family. The Lannisters, the Karstarks, the Freys, the Boltons…

…Theon.

He stopped the train of thought almost immediately and groaned inwardly. Great, he was starting to sympathize with a man who made the Lannisters seem humble and kind, by comparison. He instead elected to say nothing, only nodding before Maul grunted and beckoned him to follow. A few more kilometers due west and they finally reached their destination- a massive cave, with a stylized, roaring woman's head carved around the entrance.

"What is this place?" Robb asked his captor. "It feels…old, and rotting."

"This," Maul began, his eyes full of remembrance, "is the hall of the Nightsisters. They were once the most powerful and cunning of the witches on Dathomir, and as such were a threat to Palpatine and his plans. Now, they are nothing but ghosts and ash. I wonder sometimes if the dead can weep over their lost glory? I know I do. They were…like a family to me," the former Sith Lord mused aloud.

"I'm sorry for your loss, truly am," Robb deadpanned, unimpressed with what he viewed at the Darksider's apparent attempt at guile. "But I want to know _why_ you brought me to this place."

Maul glared at him. "This place sits atop a Force Nexus, the largest on this planet or anywhere in the sector, really. The Nightsisters came here to practice their arts and meditate on the nature of the Dark Side. I theorize that your so-called 'greensight' can work with any such nexus."

"And the access point to such a nexus?" Robb warily asked him and narrowed his eyes when Maul grinned coyly at him.

"An altar in the middle of the cave," he cryptically answered, before beckoning him to follow. "Come and see."

The inside of the cavern looked like it had belonged to some sort of cult, alright. The dark, misty cave was dimly lit with torch scones and eerie green light orbs that seemed to defy the laws of nature. And in the middle of this cave was an altar of granite, carved with ancient runes and pulsating with dark energy.

"And here we are, Master Stark!" Maul enthused, sweeping his arms wildly towards the altar. "Now, all we must do is wait for my apprentice to bring the Holocrons as promised, and then…well, then you will do as you are promised- "

"-or you will kill us all. Like you've repeated to me incessantly for the past twelve hours, now," Robb sardonically deadpanned, rolling his eyes at the former Sith Lord. Granted, it may not have been the brightest idea, but he had to admit that getting under the Darksider's skin was kind of fun. "But, I pay my debts, as do my friends. So, don't fret, my Lord of Dathomir," he mocked, which lead the former Sith to stomp over to him until their faces were mere inches apart, and Robb could feel Maul's rancid breath as he stared evenly into angry yellow eyes.

"I have put up with your mocking and your snide remarks for long enough," Maul seethed. "No more. The next time you speak like that to me again, I'll remove your tongue."

"Threats. How _charming_..." Robb retorted, opting to take a seat next to the altar instead of continuing the conversation with the old lunatic, anymore.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, watching Maul pace and fret. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, again. Soon enough, however, he finally heard the telltale whine of sublight engines powering down and the groaning of landing struts hitting the hard dirt. He wanted to sigh in relief- his pack had come for him.

"Ah, it seems our guests of honor have arrived." Maul quipped, adopting another coy grin as three figures stepped into the cavern.

Ezra and Kanan were expected, of course. Both of them were holding what Robb assumed to be the Holocrons, one an azure cube, the other a crimson pyramid, and both looked particularly displeased by the sight of the former Sith Lord.

Sabine, however, was not expected to be there. And she was looking like she was ready to eviscerate Maul with her bare hands.

"There you are, Master Jedi!" Maul exclaimed, waving his arms around for good effect. "Just follow the sound of my voice."

Ezra reached for his saber, apparently ready to cut Maul down for the insult, on top of the other crimes he had committed against them, but Kanan, ever the level-headed one, merely put a hand on his surrogate son's shoulder and calmly spoke to the demon who blinded him.

"We've upheld our end of the bargain, Maul," he pressed, with himself and Ezra placing the Holocrons on the altar. "Now, uphold yours and let our friend go."

The demon held up his hand. "Patience, my blind knightly friend," he mocked further. "My apprentice and I must first gain what we seek, and that is where your friend Robb comes into this with his powers. Once we have our answers, you and your friend may go."

Ezra snarled, crossing his arms. "Why don't I believe you?"

Before anyone could respond, Robb held up his arms. "My brothers, my lord, _please_. We waste time bandying words and threats. You will have the answers you seek- _all_ of you," the lord of Winterfell exasperated. "But I first must know exactly _what_ you seek."

That appeared to calm Ezra down, somewhat, though the young Lothalian still cast a wary glance at Maul. "Well, you know that both Kanan and I seek a way to destroy the Sith and bring balance to the Force."

"You are ambitious as ever, apprentice!" Maul attempted to flatter, though he was cut off by a growl from Kanan. "As for myself, I seek something far more simple," he spoke while he squared his shoulders. "My time is nearing its end, and the only mark I have made upon the galaxy was being Mandalore's leader for a brief period."

" _Aruetyc demagolka!"_ Sabine cursed in Mando'a. Robb quirked his eyebrow at her reaction, though said nothing as Maul continued to speak as if she had not spoken up at all.

"All I want is closure, Lord Stark. A satisfaction that at least one of my goals had been met before death claims me."

The Grey Wolf tersely nodded, despite the vagueness of the answer, and turned to Sabine, who was still glaring daggers at the former Sith Lord. "Do you have anything you seek, Sabine?" he asked her a bit more gently than he had with Maul. "Anything at all?"

The normally proud, fierce, fiery, and willful Mandalorian woman crossed her arms and turned her head. "I have nothing that I seek."

 _A lie,_ Robb thought, _and a bad one at that._ He only needed to look into her normally lively amber eyes to see the truth; they had suddenly grown hard with the remembrance of loss and betrayal of the deepest kind.

"Are you sure?" he repeated the question. "There was a reason you came here, and it wasn't just to glare at Maul."

Sabine closed her eyes, and when she spoke, she did so only in a hushed whisper, barely audible to Robb's ears. "Absolution," she whispered. "I seek absolution."

Robb nodded, desiring not to press the issue any further.

"Alright," he proclaimed, kneeling before the stone slab, which had begun pulsating with green energy, presumably in some reaction to the Holocrons being placed upon it. "Here goes nothing."

 _Bran, if your listening right now, please don't let me fuck this up._

He placed his hands upon the altar, and immediately felt the familiar effects of traveling through the netherworld of the Force, and his mind's eye opened to the paths before him.

* * *

 _He first landed on a world of sand and rock, with twin, blazing suns scorching the white and tan desert. As far as Robb could see, the signs of life were few on this planet; so much so that it made Dorne seem like a paradise in comparison. Oh sure, there was a bustling spaceport in the distance, and some nomadic tribes who undoubtedly squabbled and fought with other tribes and the settlers here over precious resources such as water, which apparently was being farmed out of some sort of weather vanes, dotting the arid landscape like strange trees, but other than that, the apparently sane sentients had opted for greener, and cooler, pastures._

 _One such farm was only a few meters away from where Robb was standing, and if he was hearing right, was the location of a rather heated argument between two older gentlemen._

" _For the last karking time, Kenobi; GET OFF MY KARKING PROPERTY!" the younger, angrier man shouted at the elder, hermit-looking fellow, who apparently was named Kenobi. "You've caused this family enough grief and heartache already! I'm not letting you drag Luke off on some damned idealistic crusade just so he can get killed."_

 _Kenobi sighed. "Owen, by keeping Luke here for 'a few more seasons', you are only increasing his resentment towards you, and will drive him into seeking out other ways of exploring the stars. You seem to forget he has inherited his father's sense of adventure, the desire to travel to new places and see new worlds, as well as his sense of justice."_

" _And where did that get Anakin, huh?" Owen pressed Kenobi. "I'll tell you where it got him and his wife; dead! They died because of your meddling, your oh-so-precious Jedi and your bullshit prophesizing! If they had just stayed here if they had just put family before your precious Republic…" Owen trailed off for a bit, before fixing Kenobi with a hard look. "Luke would have never been an orphan, Ben."_

 _Ben Kenobi's own gaze hardened as well, and his posture stiffened. "Anakin was my brother, too, Owen. Every day, I weep for his death at the hands of Vader, just as I weep for the death of my master, for Satine, for everyone I've ever lost because of the Emperor," the older man rebuked while he stepped closer to Owen. "But you_ cannot _keep Luke from his destiny, Owen. He is a Skywalker, and he will be the one who will destroy the Sith; every day you keep him from his destiny, the Empire comes closer and closer to finding him. And if they do find him, the last, best hope for saving this galaxy will be gone."_

 _Owen just continued to glare at Ben for the longest moment, before turning his back on him and angrily trudging back to his house, but not before throwing a parting shot his way._

" _For the last time, Obi-Wan, stay away from my property, or you'll find a slug going through your head. No one is taking away Luke. No one."_

* * *

 _Robb felt himself being pulled out of that vision, and into another. He next landed on a world that much reminded him of home. Snow covered the ground and the pine trees, and off in the distance he spotted majestic grey mountains, while he heard the howling of wolves in the distance._

 _For all its familiarity, however, he knew that this was not his home, for in the distance sat a fortress, Mandalorian instead of Northern in design and layout. Something pulled at him in the direction of this fortress, whether it was the Force or just plain instinct didn't matter. The Mandalorian guards manning the gates to this compound wore armor painted grey and gold, and the sigil adorning their armor and banners was that of Clan Wren; a black raven rising, wings displayed and elevated._

So, this must be Sabine's home, then _, Robb thought to himself as he stepped through the door. He passed through the throne room, which reminded him strongly of Winterfell's Great Hall, and into the inner courtyard, which unlike the rest of the castle, was green and living._

 _He mused that this area, full of green trees and running water, served a similar function to the godswood in Winterfell, and in front of a great oak tree knelt a woman who looked much like Sabine, only older by some good twenty-or-so years, far less colorful, and far grimmer than the young woman he knew._

" _Blessed_ manda _," the woman began praying, "watch over our proud clan. Keep watch over my husband in his foul captivity. Guide my son on his path as a loyal warrior. Let my brother's spirit join you in your glorious fold. Help_ Manda'yim _through these dark times..." Here the stern woman faltered, and Robb could hear differing emotions in her voice:_

 _Pain._

 _Disappointment._

 _Regret._

 _Betrayal._

 _Longing._

"… _and bring our daughter back into our fold. Show her the error of her ways, and help her to strive to regain her lost honor and soul. Let her cleanse herself of her treason and her shame."_

 _Realization struck Robb, then. So, this was Sabine's mother, then._

" _Countess Ursa!" one of the guards shouted. "My lady...summons from Sundari! Viceroy Saxon demands you update him on the status of our monthly tribute."_

 _The countess scowled at the guard, who immediately bowed in trepidation of her scrutinizing gaze. "What more does that craven bastard want? He makes my husband a prisoner, he makes my son a glorified bodyguard, he forced me to declare my own daughter an oathbreaker and disown her lest I risk my clan's destruction, and yet he asks me for more?" she ranted. "If the Empire did not back him, I swear upon the bones of my ancestors that I would have cut his throat the minute he sided with that_ aruetii _, Palpatine, over his own blood," she spat. "At least Maul had a concept of honor, no matter how primitive it was."_

 _The guard must have been frowning beneath his helmet, for he expressed disapproval. "My lady, with all due respect, Sabine did betray us by designing that weapon for those outlanders. The same weapon they used to kill your broth-"_

" _I know full well of her treason!" Ursa snapped at him. "But she is of my own blood- she is my daughter! If I executed her for her crimes, I'd damn myself and the clan as a kinslayer. That is why I banished her from Krownest- it was the only recourse available to me!" she yelled, her stentorian voice on the verge of breaking with emotion before composing herself. "I will be there to answer the viceroy in a few moments. Just…please…let me pray some more."_

 _Robb scowled. It seemed no matter where you went, the game of thrones was played- that vile political game that set men at each other's throats, tore families apart in bids for power, and cause the ruination of entire civilizations._

 _And sadly, he knew, the game would continue to be played, for there would always be the power-hungry and the corrupt._

 _And with those thoughts, he pulled himself out of the vision._

* * *

He came back to reality in a flash, gasping the dry, stale air of the cave in a deep, sucking breath.

"What is it?" Maul demanded of him. "What did you see? Tell us!"

Robb took a few more breaths before electing to answer. "I saw, first, a desert world with twin suns," he began, focusing on Ezra and Kanan, particularly. "There, I came across an argument between two men about a boy named Luke Skywalker, whose father was a Jedi named Anakin, and whose mother was a woman named Padme. One was a man by the name of Owen, who was the boy's uncle, and the other was an old hermit going by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi, or by the nickname of Ben. I only caught the end of their argument, really, but it seems that Obi-Wan thinks that this Luke is the one who will destroy the Sith."

Kanan's mouth dropped open. "Master Kenobi is alive?" he asked no one in particular, surprised and relieved in one setting. "Master Skywalker had a son, with Senator Amidala? "

Robb nodded, not at all surprised that the blind knight knew whom he was talking about. "Aye, it seems so," he replied. "But you need to fill me in; who were Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker?" he inquired politely, all the while noticing the dangerous gleam forming in Maul's eyes.

 _I'm going to regret giving that man my sword._

"They were some of the greatest Jedi our order ever produced," Kanan informed him, his tone full of remembrance and reverence. "Fine swordsmen, superb tacticians, and cunning warriors. They were responsible for more victories for the Republic than any other Jedi combined," he said, then laughed a little. "I particularly remember an incident where I actually impressed Master Kenobi by pointing out the flaws in the emergency code system."

Robb nodded, getting the picture that these two were quite the formidable pair. "Whatever happened to them?" he asked. Kanan's face soured into a frown.

"Master Skywalker died defending the Temple when the clones attacked it at the end of the war- he was cut down by Vader himself, from what I heard," he shook his head. "As for Master Kenobi, no one knew what had happened to him. He was rumored to be dead, of course, but from what I've heard, they never recovered his body as proof. Now I know he isn't dead."

"As do I." Maul interrupted, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "You see, Mister Stark, this was my hope- that at least one of my enemies remained in reach for me to destroy so that at last I could die knowing that my life wasn't a complete waste," he drew, as his grin turned malicious. "And now I know that he watches over the prophesized Chosen One who can assist me in destroying Palpatine and his pet, Vader, unfortunately, your services are no longer required, Ezra Bridger."

Ezra growled as the two Jedi drew and ignited their blades. "Thought I smelled a trap."

Sabine agreed with the Padawan, drawing her twin WESTAR-35 blaster pistols. "Didn't I tell you that this stank from the start?"

Robb glared directly into Maul's eyes, cold sapphires meeting with hot, golden lakes of fire. "I'll give you one chance, Maul," he warned him, really wishing he had his sword on him right now. "Yield, and live. Fight, and die." Behind him, the altar became alive with green energy, and ghosts danced around the cavern, green and sickly and _wrong_.

Maul laughed, his voice cruel and hard. "What do you have to threaten me with, Stark?" he mocked. "Your fists? Your wit? Your friends?" he pointed, and Robb saw out of the corner of his eye a horrific sight.

One of those ghostly figures had rammed itself into Sabine, taking possession of the young Mandalorian warrior, and now the two Jedi were trying to fight off their possessed friend, Maul's droids, and the ghosts at the same time.

Robb snarled. "You knew this would happen!" he accused, eyeing his sword dangling on Maul's belt. Already, his mind was hatching a plan. It was stupid, dangerous, and it required to keep Maul talking.

But it just might work, provided that the bugger remained distracted and he wasn't carved in twain by a lightsaber.

"Of course, I did!" Maul shouted in triumph, now apparently too arrogant to activate his lightsaber and cut him down, instead boasting about his inevitable victory "Kenobi will be mine to kill! Skywalker will be mine to master! And I will crush those pretenders on Coruscant once and for- "

Robb immediately seized his chance, sprinting full speed at the Zabrak Nightbrother, who reacted far too late to stop him. The Lord of Winterfell tackled the Lord of the Sith to the ground, and in doing so, freed his sword and scabbard from Maul's belt, wrestling the blade free and rolling up into a fighting stance, the dark metal of the Mandalorian steel bastard-sword drank in the light of the cave around it.

Maul sneered and rose to his feet, activating his crimson-bladed weapon, glowing with an unhindered malice and rage that reflected upon its owner.

"It matters not if you die kneeling," Maul snarled, "or die standing. You cannot stop me from reaching my destiny." The former Sith adopted his own fighting stance, this one aggressive and offensive in tone. "And now it begins."

Robb shook his head. "No," He began, echoing his father from all those years past, "now it ends."

* * *

 **A/N: And this is where I stop. Fooking cliffhanger, mate!**

" **Legacy of Mandalore" heavily inspired me to write in one of the visions, here. I was quite surprised by Ursa's character, as I was expecting her to be much like a female version of Randyll Tarly (one of GoT's biggest cockbags). Instead, herself and Clan Wren felt more like House Stark. The only main complaints I had were that they made Ezra yet again act like a complete tool and that Sabine nearly got herself killed turning her back on a man who's the literal definition of "dar'manda". (I was also quite annoyed by the fact that Saxon thought he could just walk right into the Wrens' home, guarded by hundreds of soldiers, and simply execute every family member there with only four guys.)**

 **Next chapter will focus on either Ezra or Sabine, with the chapter after that dealing with any potential fallout.**

 **On an unrelated note, has anyone heard that they have discovered a habitable solar system with 7 Earth-like planets, only 39 LY away?**

 **Until the next, and remember to keep the Resol'nare.**


	12. Sabine III

Darkness- that was all that she could see.

Silence- that was all she could hear.

Cold- that was all she could feel.

She should have expected it, she bitterly thought to herself. She should have seen that _thing_ coming right for her, but she was far too busy fighting off that _aruetii_ 's droids that she was blindsided by it. And she mocked Ezra for his lack of situational awareness, at times. Oh, how the tables have turned, she groaned inwardly.

She sat down, hugging her knees to keep herself closed and warm. By the _manda_ , it was kriffing cold in here- wherever here was. Hell, she'd even argue that her home planet of Krownest was a warm, tropical paradise by comparison.

 _Sabine_

She shot her head up. There was someone in here, with her, calling to her.

"Yes?" she called back to the endless void. "Who's there?"

 _Sabine…_ the voice called out to her again, louder this time. Sabine sprang up to her feet, walking this way and that, looking for the source of the voice. All she could see, however, was nothing but endless darkness.

"Show yourself, voice!" she commanded at long last, frustrated that she seemed to be getting nowhere.

" _SABINE!"_ the voice now yelled. Something about it seemed familiar to her…it was if she knew whom the voice belonged to…

No, that was impossible. He was long dead, slain by the hands of the Empire and its sympathizers…with her own weapon.

She felt a fiery warmth wrapping around from behind her, and out of the corners of her eyes, she noticed a baleful orange glow. She slowly turned around and saw a wall of flame, the fire dancing, twirling, and roaring as if it had a mind of its own. And in the middle of this fire, hung on a cross, beaten within an inch of his life, and left nearly naked for all to see, was her dear uncle, the man she always looked up to and confided in when she was just a young girl.

Lucius Wren.

" _Ba'vodu_?" she exclaimed, not quite believing her own eyes, which she was sure had gone as wide as saucer plates at seeing her deceased uncle.

"Why?" he pleaded with her in a broken voice that echoed around the nothingness, his own amber eyes filled with betrayal and sadness. "Why did you do it, Sabine? Why did you build that monstrosity for them? Why did you break your oath?"

"Uncle, please," she begged. "I didn't have a choice! I didn't know that they would use it on you and our people! I tried to save all of you!"

"So, you tried to save us by _fleeing_?" her uncle's tone turned accusatory, and his gaze turned to cold steel. "By running like a coward instead of standing your ground like a true Mando? Perhaps they are right when they call you _dar'manda_!"

"No, uncle, you don't understand! They were too many, my mother didn't even want to hear my side of the story-" her desperate plea was cut off, however, as the form of Lucius rose higher above her, and the wall of fire raged into an inferno.

"The Empire is destroying _everything!_ " he roared, flames now shooting out of his mouth and eyes, his skin starting to peel and blister, as it became one with the flames. " _Manda'yim_ is in chains! You have forgotten your purpose!" he berated, as his form melted into the flames and the inferno now spoke with a multitude of voices, all of them from her past.

Her mother.

Her father.

Her brother.

Her uncle.

Her fellow cadets.

Ketsu.

The crew of the Ghost.

"You have betrayed us! **You have forsaken us!"** they all roared in unison. " **BURN!"**

And as the flames closed in around her, as the head became unbearable and the flames started to lick her skin, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

* * *

She woke up next lying face down in the sand, the sound of cheering and yelling reverberating all around her. She struggled to her feet and looked around. It became immediately apparent that she was in some sort of arena on a desert world, as the people here were all tan, and wearing clothing appropriate for such arid conditions.

"Citizens of the noblest and ancient Free City of Meereen!" an announcer from one of the podiums was calling out. "Welcome to the Great Pit of Daznak! From across Dragon's Bay and the whole world come fighters to prove their mettle! From the noble Westerosi Knight to the fierce Dothraki screamer, they come for one thing, and one thing only- the glory of combat!"

The crowd roared their approval, as black banners flapped all around the stadium, their sigil a three-headed dragon breathing flame.

"Who will triumph in our first match?" the announcer asked of the throng. "The disgraced Mandalorian warrior, thrown from her homeland and clan to wander the stars?" He pointed to her. "Or the last of the Nightsisters, who is seeking to restore their ancient ways and greatness?" he pointed to the end of the arena, towards her apparent opponent. The warrior woman was scantily clad in red fabric, with black, tribal tattoos covering her face and arms. In her hands, she wielded some sort of halberd, the material it was made from looked like _beskar_.

It was then Sabine felt something hanging off her right hip. Confused, Sabine tugged at the object and looked at it closely. It was a lightsaber of some sort, that much was clear, but it wasn't of the kind Kanan or Ezra wielded, which had round hilts and no guards to speak of. This one had a semi-rectangular shaped hilt, and the guard reminded her of the guards seen on the falchions most of her people preferred to wield in melee combat.

 _No_ , she thought with dawning realization and horror, _it can't be!_

She found the lightsaber's ignition switch and pressed it, and the blade cackled to life, it's hue jet black, cracked it white streaks.

The Darksaber, the legendary weapon of Clan Vizsla and the symbol of the old rulers of all Mandalorian Space…and she was holding it.

Wielding it.

"You seem nervous, little girl," her opponent mocked her, sashaying as she walked towards her. "What's the matter? Big bad Mandalorian afraid of a little Jedi weapon?" the Nightsister joked as she twirled her halberd menacingly.

Sabine glared at the Dathomirian witch. "Who are you?" she demanded, bringing her own sword into a fighting stance.

The Nightsister laughed, cruelly, and without mirth. "Come now, Sabine," she tittered. "Who do you think, other than the sister currently possessing your body at the moment?"

The wayward daughter of Clan Wren barely had time to register what she said, for, at that moment, the arena went dead quiet. From the biggest pavilion, a single clap was heard, and the crowd roared to its feet.

It was also the moment the Nightsister chose to strike, swinging at Sabine's head in a downward arc. The warrior-artist barely had time to counter, rolling out of the way of the menacing polearm and back into a fighting position. She immediately went on the offensive, swinging the Darksaber this way and that, hoping to catch her opponent off balance. The cruel dark-sider just swatted her feeble attacks away, however, chortling as if this were a game.

Maybe this was all it was to the deranged spirit, Sabine mused as she was immediately put on the defensive again, trying to parry and dodge the Nightsister's halberd…

…and struggling in doing so.

Every thrust she took was batted aside. Every counter she made was followed up by another attack. Every swipe she took was parried. The dark-sider was simply too quick for her.

"Pathetic," the witch hissed. "Your skill with a blade is lacking, young one," she pressed. The witch then swung her halberd with all her might, and knocked the Darksaber out of Sabine's hands, to the delight of the crowd.

"Listen to them!" the witch cackled. "They think you are weak and afraid." She sneered. "Face it, girl. No one loves you. No one cares for you. Your own mother abandoned you to please the Empire…"

"Shut up," Sabine snarled, pulling out her blasters and firing at the witch, who just seemed to evade the bolts with inhuman ease.

"…Hera and Kanan only care about what you bring to the Rebellion," the dark woman pressed. "You think they care about you as a person? Ha! The minute your rebellion succeeds they'll cast you aside to wonder on your own, just as your mother did!"

"I said...SHUT UP!" Sabine repeated...and was rewarded for her efforts with the back end of her opponent's halberd to her face, knocking her flat on her back.

"What's more…" her opponent drew, coming to stand over her. "That cute boy you like so much…the one who follows you around like a love-sick puppy…" her grin grew malicious. "He doesn't deserve you, a coward and a traitor, a woman who just wants to shirk her responsibilities to everything and everyone and live in her own artistic heaven…"

"No…" Sabine stuttered, as she now lay on the ground, with the tip of her opponent's weapon resting on her throat. "I…I…I don't-"

The Nightsister rolled her eyes. "Oh, this is rich. You're going to tell me now that 'you don't like him like that', like some teenager in denial, aren't you?" the witch mocked, and pressed the blade point further into her neck, drawing a little blood. "You seem to forget the fact that _we are in your mind_ , right now, girl. I can see all your deepest, most intimate thoughts, and I know how strongly you truly feel for that Loth-rat," she smirked. "But no matter. Once he gets a load of what a real woman looks like- and feels like- he'll drop you in a heartbeat and come slobbering over to me like the good little beggar he is."

Sabine winced and prepared herself for the end, but as her opponent raised her weapon to strike the scion of the Avenger down, she suddenly remembered something the monster had told her.

 _I am in my mind…_

 _I can control my environment, which means…_

Sabine bucked her hips, sending the witch sprawling off her into the dirt. She sprang to her feet almost immediately and ran to where her weapon was. Picking up the ancient blade, she stared her opponent down, as the witch glared at her with deranged madness.

"I will not lose to you, oathbreaker!" the thing spat. "Our due must be paid! The Nightsisters must rise again!"

"No," Sabine corrected, "they must not." She remembered the things Robb showed her, the way the Grey Wolf kept his calm and his footwork steady. She applied the same principle here, as she batted away the Nightsister's strike almost effortlessly.

"How?" the Dathomirian pondered allowed, fear creeping into her voice. "How are you able to resist me?"

"Like you said, witch," Sabine replied, blocking another strike of the halberd, "this is _my_ mind. _I_ control what happens in here. You have _no_ power here."

The Nightsister snarled. "Foolish girl! Do you know whom you are dealing with?"

"A relic of a bygone age. Nothing more," Sabine replied, as calm as still water.

Suddenly, the ground started to crack open, and light poured through, golden and orange in hue. And beyond the cracks, she could hear a voice calling out to her, urgent and pleading.

" **Sabine!"**

"Ezra…" she breathed as her heart skipped a beat.

" **Sabine, snap out of it, I know you can fight it! I trust you!"**

Sabine froze, her breath hitching.

He trusts her…

They all trust her…

And she trusts them, as well…

With newfound courage and serenity, Sabine focused on her opponent before her. The deranged witch snarled at her and charged full tilt, the point of her halberd leveled at the Mandalorian warrior. Sabine adjusted her footwork, and when the moment came...when the crazed Nightsister was on the verge of running her through, Sabine sidestepped the thrust, and using the witch's momentum against her, cut through her neck, the hot plasma searing through the unprotected flesh and bone.

The sister's head flew off her shoulders, landing a few feet away from Sabine's feet, an angry and shocked grimace being the final, eternal emotion set on its face, as the body remained standing for a few, tense moments before collapsing to the ground in a twitching heap.

Sabine stared at the head for a moment, as the audience around her erupted into a roar of approval, chanting her name to the distant stars above before she noticed the light in the ground growing bigger and bigger at an ever-increasing light.

She let out a sigh of relief as she let the light take her, and was torn from this strange world…

* * *

 _Sabine…wake up…_

The first thing Sabine saw was a blurry shape kneeling over her, as dull red light poured in through her vision.

"Bean!"

The shapes cleared up, and she soon came to realize that she was outside the Nightsisters' cavern on Dathomir, and the blurry shape kneeling over her was none other than Ezra.

"Ezra?" She asked groggily. "What happened back there?"

"You were possessed by one of those things," he explained to her, clutching both his lightsaber and what appeared to be the Darksaber. "You grabbed this old lightsaber here and started to attack me and Kanan. It was only after I pushed you out of the cave that you began to fight whatever was controlling you."

It all came back to Sabine in a rush at that moment. Her uncle, the fight in the arena, the light…

She looked around. "Not that I'm not glad to see you and all, Ez, but where is everyone else?"

"Kanan went back into the cave to help Robb fight off Maul. Hera and the others are on the ship," he informed her as he stood up. "And I'm going back in to destroy that altar. Those spirits are too dangerous to be let loose."

Sabine got to her feet, albeit a bit unsteadily. By whatever gods there were, she was _sore_. "I'm coming with you," she declared. Call her stubborn, but there was no way she was going to let _any_ of her family die, not while she could help it.

Unfortunately, Ezra could be just as equally stubborn, as he shook his head emphatically. "No way. Those spirits will possess you again. You go back to the ship."

Sabine huffed, putting her right hand on her hip in a defiant pose, and fix him with a challenging stare. "Since when have I ever started listening to you? I can handle myself, you know?"

Ezra grit his teeth, muttering something about 'stubborn karking Mandalorians' before throwing his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine! You can come and help, but do realize that if anything happens to you, Hera will throttle me, understand?"

Sabine smirked. "I'll be sure to break my leg so I can see that," she ribbed in good nature, though Ezra didn't seem to share the humor, instead opting to groan and motioning for her to follow.

They raced back into the cave, with Ezra still clutching his own lightsaber and the Darksaber, and soon found a surreal scene.

Robb and Maul were still going at it, striking, parrying, and countering each other, neither gaining ground or giving it. Not even the addition of Kanan had turned the tides of the battle, and now all three were trying to end the fight whilst avoiding the Nightsister spirits, who were intent on claiming a host on their own.

Sabine saw Ezra dart straight to the altar, lightsabers in hand, dodging this way and that to avoid the ghouls coming straight at him. Soon enough, he had reached the altar, and with swords in hand, he brought down the blades with a mighty cry.

The ground shook beneath Sabine's feet, throwing her and the others off balance, and suddenly, a flash of light erupted from the altar, followed by a concussive shockwave that threw her and the others to the ground. As Sabine felt the wind get knocked out of her, she could distinctly hear the screams of the Nightsisters, being pulled back into oblivion, before the silence settled over the cavern again.

Coughing, Sabine managed to sit up, and to her great alarm, Maul was already up before her, walking on a still-down Robb Stark, who was trying to get up and reach for his sword. The insane Sith Lord kicked the blade out of reach, stepping on Robb's hand in the process. Sabine grimaced when she heard Robb's sharp cry of agony, as she also heard several fingers breaking due to the pressure of a durasteel foot pressing down on them.

"What were your words, again, Mister Stark?" Maul spat, as he came to be on top of the former king, his blade once again ignited and ready to kill. "Now it ends? I think now I very much agree. It will end…for you…" he mocked as he raised his sword for the cut that would end Robb's second life.

Springing into action, Sabine drew her combat knife out of her sheath, and raced towards Maul with the speed of a falcon, ignoring the protesting, aching muscles in her legs and arms. She switched her grip on the blade to a reverse grip, and when she got close enough, drove the dagger deep into his back, right in between the third and second rib.

The Nightbrother grunted, apparently equal parts shocked and enraged that someone had the gall to strike him like that, let alone one who was not Force-sensitive. He turned around, spotting her, and with an incensed snarl, grabbed her by the throat in a vice-like grip.

"You…" he seethed, "little…Mandalorian…bitch! I'll _gut_ you for that! But first, I'm going to make sure Bridger hears you _scream_!"

He tightened his grip on her throat, and Sabine started to see red haze as she struggled for breath, desperately trying to pry Maul's talons off her neck. Through the red mist, she saw him raise his blade once again, this time apparently to strike _her_ down.

Just as she was about to lose all consciousness, his grip on her neck slackened, and she fell to the ground in an undignified heap. Taking a moment to catch her breath and gulp down some badly needed air, no matter how hot and stifling, she then shakily rose to her feet…

…and saw a familiar dark steel blade coming out of the back of Maul's head, the sword splitting his mouth, nose, and half his face wide down the middle, as the former Sith Lord gurgled blood, before being slowly shoved off the sword, collapsing on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Darth Maul, former Sith Lord, Warlord, Crime-Lord, Scourge of Mandalore, was dead.

And his killer, Robb Stark, holding his bloodied sword with one hand while his damaged hand hung uselessly at his side, stared coldly at his corpse.

"Goodbye, my lord," he spoke at long last, his voice filled with nothing but contempt for the villain. "May history forget you ever existed."

He kicked the corpse once to make sure he was dead, and after that, sauntered off to rejoin Ezra and Kanan, who was by now just getting up.

Sabine stared at Maul's corpse and mused on Robb's words. True, no songs of this duel would be sung, nor would historians write of this battle, but Robb was wrong in one regard; history would remember the villain, as much as it pained her to admit it to herself. Granted, he would be remembered as a usurper and a coward in Mandalorian history, a footnote to the reign of the Duchess Satine Kryze and the rise of Gar Saxon as Imperial Viceroy, but he would be remembered, regardless- a black name in all of Mandalorian culture.

A name just as black as hers.

Shaking her head, she cleared that line of thought out of her mind, before walking to rejoin Robb and the others.

"Few weeks on the mend, and you'll be as good as new!" Ezra was encouraging him.

"Thank the gods for modern medicine, then," Robb replied, having sheathed his sword and was now clutching his damaged hand. "Where I came from, this would have taken months to heal or it would have required an amputation, in the most extreme cases."

"Don't know how you did it, but I'm thankful Maul isn't going to be around to trouble us any longer. We have enough to worry about without him coming into our lives," Kanan complimented.

"Thank Sabine for that," Robb corrected him, nodding to where she had joined them. "I'd be dead if not for her. And for that, you have my gratitude," he complimented and looked back outside the cave. "Maul's ship needs a new owner, and a new paint-job, methinks. What better gift for the woman who ended the life of the tyrant who ruled over her people than his vessel?"

Sabine was flabbergasted. Her own ship? A _Korm'k_ -class fighter/bomber, that she could take on her own missions were the _Ghost_ wasn't required or needed?

How could she say 'no'?

"I…accept, I guess..." she replied, still a little dazed.

Kanan nodded at her. "We'll figure out a name for it later. As for now, I'd very much like to get out of this cave and off this rock."

"No argument from me, here," Robb agreed while Ezra nodded, and began to make their way out of the cave.

As she started to make her way out of the cavern, Sabine spotted something lying in the dust, a few feet away from the altar, something familiar…

And it seemed to call to her.

Walking over to where it was, she picked it up to examine it. She inwardly grimaced when she realized it was the Darksaber. Half of her wanted to throw it down the nearest chasm and forget about it for the rest of her days, never to be seen again. But the other half…the other half wanted her to hold on to it, at least until they got back to the _Ghost_ where she could give it to Kanan or Robb for safe-keeping.

"Sabine? You coming?" Ezra yelled back at her.

"Yeah! I'm coming!" she yelled back, running to catch up to the group.

All the while still holding her family's ancestral weapon, unaware of the destiny the Force had ordained upon her, as a large, three-eyed raven watched with great curiosity and interest…

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter down, another day is done.**

 **Now, I'd like to take a moment here with an urgent plea- there is a fanfic writer on this site by the pen-name of kornerbrandon, and he is going through a dark time in his life and is currently contemplating suicide as a solution to his problems. If you have a moment of your time, I implore you, good readers, to send him a message of support, and urge him to step away from the rope, as suicide is a temporary solution to a permanent problem and one that will always cause great pain to those around you.**

 **Now, for the actual Q &A.**

 **Many of you may wonder why Sabine would have landed in Meereen in her second 'vision', while she has never even heard of the city beyond Robb's limited stories about it. My answer to that is that those in the afterlife can perceive time and space differently than we can, and thus the dead Nightsister would have learned about Planetos.**

 **The conversation between Sabine and her uncle was heavily inspired by the newest season of Samurai Jack, and the end of the duel between Maul and Robb echoes that of the one between both Jon Snow and Karl Tanner, and the one between Ned Stark and Arthur Dayne. Not as emotionally evocative as the end of "Twin Suns", I know, but dead is dead, and Maul will be forgotten by the denizens of the galaxy, at large. He loses the duel proper, true, but still kills Maul in the end. Also, to those wondering why Maul would have ignored the warnings the Force would give him in regards to the danger…well, anger kind of works funny in the way duels go. Yeah, it can aid you in a fight, true enough, but if you get too angry, you get tunnel vision.**

 **Yep, Sabine gets Maul's ship AND the Darksaber. I'll give you three guesses as to what she is going to name it…**

 **I gave the uncle the name "Lucius" based on my finding that the Wrens' names seem to be all based on Latin or Romantic names and peoples.**

 **Till the next…**


	13. Sloane II

If there was anything that could describe the Chiss accurately, it was that they were, almost without exception, a bunch of condescending, xenophobic stoics, and it was making her already stressful job even more damned difficult than it had to be. And it was on days like this that made her wish that her old mentor was here to at least soothe over negotiations…

On second thought, judging by the reactions of the name 'Thrawn' on Csilla, perhaps it would be better if she was the one to talk to them.

"I understand your concerns, my lord," she again stressed. "But the Empire does not wish to conquer or annex the Chiss Ascendency. All we are asking for are the star maps to the regions beyond your border to the west."

The ambassador she was talking to, a particularly haughty Chiss Aristoca named 'Formbi', merely quirked a thin eyebrow at her, taking a sip of his wine while doing so, deigning to wait a few moments before setting down his drink and answering her question.

"Indeed, Admiral," he tutted, "but you will forgive me for doubting your word. You Imperials have a remarkable history of turning your back on your promises, after all." he reminded as he folded his hands in his lap. "Take, for instance, the Lasat. You promised them that you would leave them alone if they gave the Emperor hostages and agreed to pay annual tribute. Not even a half-year later, you slaughter the hostages, stop taking the tribute, and wiped out nearly every man, woman, and child on Lasan, just so you could resettle it with more 'proper-thinking' human colonists from Corulag."

Rae's gaze hardened. "I had nothing to do with that."

"But Palpatine did," Formbi corrected, "as did Governor Tarkin. What is to stop you from using our star charts to launch a surprise attack from the rear?" he questioned. "Just because we have a …ambivalent relationship today, does not mean that we won't be enemies tomorrow."

Rae sighed. "Your concerns are understandable, my lord. But we are currently faced with a far greater threat," she again stressed. "I've received word that the Yuuzhan Vong- your long-time enemies, are rallying behind one leader."

Formbi's own gaze hardened, his red eyes boring into Rae's brown ones. "Where did you learn of this?"

"Does it matter?" Rae threw the hard question back in his face. If these Chiss wanted to play twenty questions with her, she was more than happy to oblige them.

"It _absolutely_ does." Formbi pressed. "If it is a matter of dire security, as you say it is, then there should be no secrets between us. So, tell me- how…did…you…learn…this."

Rae grimaced. On one hand, she'd be giving away vital state secrets. On the other, she needed those star maps. It was a matter of priorities, and her answer would determine whether she got to keep her rank, and her head.

"We sent a couple of scout ships out into the uncharted territories. They reported back to us that the Vong were mobilizing and that they were gathering their forces," she told a half-truth, then she leaned forward. "Now it's my turn again; what are _you_ not telling _me._ "

Formbi continued to glare at her, but his lips, ever so stoic, curled up into a slight smirk. "You are very perceptive, Admiral Sloane. I recognize traces of Mith'raw'nurudo's genius imprinted on you," he complimented, but then his smirk settled down back into a frown, and he shifted in his seat ever so slightly. "It's not just the Vong who are rallying behind this mysterious force," he said after a moment, his voice going uncharacteristically quiet, and Rae had to strain herself to hear him. "The Ssi-Ruuk, the Yethvena, the Killiks- nearly every damned barbarian tribe and culture is rallying behind this being, and we don't know who or what he is, only that it is a male, that he is a human, that he possibly could have been a Jedi at one point, and that he's been doing this for nearly twenty years, now."

Rae's eyes went as wide as saucer plates. A Jedi? In the Unknown Regions?

A part of her wanted to say that it wasn't possible, that Lord Vader and the Inquisition had been extremely thorough in wiping out or converting the Jedi Knights who survived Operation: Knightfall and Order 66, but her experiences with Jarrus and his annoying Padawan had taught her better. It was entirely possible that a survivor of the Purge could have fled into the Unknown Regions, sought shelter with one of the friendlier Yuuzhan Vong clans, and then began to coalesce the races into a sort of coalition, building it for nearly twenty years in preparation for an invasion of the galaxy, in some elaborate act of revenge.

Rae's blood ran cold, and the air went as chilly as the damned crypt on LX-777. If what he was saying was true, this possible rogue Jedi had an army of _billions_ under his command, an army that could very well overrun the defenses in the border regions.

And that wasn't counting what was supposedly coming after that- the dead men and their freak of a master.

Once more she cursed the rebellion in the Outer Rim. Every day they still existed, more and more resources had to be expended and allocated to defeat them. Every month they propagated their nerfshit, more and more systems came to question the rule of His Majesty. She silently berated Krennic under her breath for being such a slow, egotistical fool. If he had completed his project by now, they wouldn't even have to worry about any damned revolt in the Rim, and could concentrate their might to where the real war was about to begin.

A war she was going to have to fight on her own, for the time being.

She squared her shoulders and addressed the Aristoca with the grace and authority of a Vice Admiral of the Imperial Navy. "I thank you for this information, Aristoca Formbi," she thanked him. "But if we can get to the matter of the star charts? I cannot go risking my men to go in blindly, after all."

Formbi sighed. "Very well. The charts will be uploaded to your fleet's database within the standard hour," he relented, summoning an aide who walked briskly to where the two were sitting. "And should you need it, there is a library here in the capital you can consult if you want more information on the tribes living in the Unknown Regions."

Rae stood up and bowed politely to the Chiss aristocrat. "I thank you, my lord, in your cooperation with this matter."

"And I thank you, Admiral Sloane, for being such a polite guest," he bowed back. "I hope your mission to the savage wastes is a resounding success."

* * *

Csaplar was supposed to be the warmest city on the otherwise deathly cold planet of Csilla, which made it the ideal choice for off-world traders and merchants, and it was also the capital city for the Chiss homeworld.

Apparently, no one had thought to inform her that warm for a Chiss wasn't the same as being warm for a human, as she wrapped her standard-issue cold weather jacket around her a little tighter, as she and her Death Troopers made their way via speed-cab to what was considered the most secure, intact, and largest library this side of the Galaxy; the Expeditionary Library, located deep beneath the ice in between Csaplar and As'ciel, and operated by the Expeditionary Defense Force.

Rae had no doubt that Formbi would have informed the guards manning the entrance to the library that she had access to their treasured information. If he hadn't, she didn't have any doubt that if the guards tried to detain her, or worse, the Ascendency would bring the wrath of the Emperor down upon them. She had to suppress a smirk as they were coming up on the end of the ice tunnel leading to the facility. Even the "last free nation" knew when to acquiesce to the wishes of the Galactic Empire, as it should be.

One of the Death Troopers garbled something at her and nodded at the end of the tunnel. The entrance was nothing special; just a large pair of sturdy durasteel doors... with two EDS soldiers guarding the place looked vigilant and weary, their rifles at the low-ready position and set to kill.

"Halt, outlander," one guard commanded, as her and her entourage waked up to the durasteel doors. "No one can enter without prior authorization from one of the ruling families."

"I have the proper credentials," Rae informed, handing him her code cylinder, which now contained the code Formdi gave her, used for accessing the library.

The guard nodded at her, and walked over to the terminal near the door, plugging it in. After a few seconds, the light turned green, and the massive doors slid open. The guard walked back to her, nodding as he handed her the code cylinder.

"Everything is in order, Admiral Sloane," he informed. "Please, if you have any questions, ask Tris at the desk, ma'am."

"Understood," she replied and soon walked past the guards and into the library.

She was immediately struck by the size of it. Normally, a modern library would be no more than a large room, complete with holodisks and holoscreens for viewing materials online. This library was the size of a standard docking bay found on most models of Star Destroyer, with four walkways located along the walls that were accessed by steep stairwells. In the center of the library was a large, rectangular table made of snow wood, with enough seats to sit twenty people in comfort.

But the thing that struck Rae most that everything in here was that there were _books_ on the shelf. Not holodisks, not tapes, but actual, paper, leather-bound books, cataloged by their area of study, from anthropology to botany to histories of worlds heard and unheard of.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" a voice spoke from behind her. Rae turned sharply on her heal, just as her Death Troopers raised their weapons at the source of the voice.

"At ease!" she commanded the overzealous commandos. "This one isn't a threat. Stand down." She turned to the source of the voice, who was Chiss female, her expression somewhat annoyed at her. "My apologies. My guards can be a little overzealous when it comes to my protection. I am Vice Admiral Rae Sloane of the Imperial Navy. May I have your name?"

The Chiss crossed her arms. "My name would be unpronounceable to your Basic tongue. Therefore, you may simply call me 'Tris'. I'm the chief librarian in this facility, and I'd appreciate it if your guards remained at a comfortable distance from me."

Rae nodded. "Of course, but do understand their presence is non-negotiable in the eyes of my government."

Tris nodded tersely. "Understandable. It would reflect poorly on us if we were to attack you, here. Now, back to my original question; can I be of assistance to you?"

"I need information about the species in the Unknown Regions, in particular, the big ones. The Vong, the Ssi-Ruuk, pretty much everything and anything you have," she informed the librarian, who merely quirked an eyebrow at her.

Were all Chiss so ineffably stoic and smug?

"You do realize that's literally days' worth of reading, right?" Tris asked her. "And I highly doubt that you have days to spend here in this library."

Rae sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Just…get me the basic histories of the major species then."

Tris nodded, but before she could turn and walk to the history section, something tugged at Rae; a memory of a long-forgotten crypt in an ancient, grim castle, and the stone face of a kingly statue.

 _The King in the North_ , something seemed to whisper to her. _Find the King in the North_.

"Excuse me!" she called out to the librarian, who turned back and stared at her with a face made of chiseled stone. "There is something else I need for you to get me."

"And that is?" Tris asked, tapping an impatient foot.

"A book covering the history of a planet we've recently re-discovered. I don't know what the inhabitants of that place used to call it, but our scientists have taken to calling it LX-777," Rae revealed, hoping beyond hope that her head wouldn't roll for this.

Tris nodded slowly, biting her lip. "And where, exactly, is this planet located?"

Rae thought long and hard about that one. So far, only those in the highest echelons of the Imperial military and scientific community knew about the planet's existence. And Lord Vader had made it _very_ clear to her that he would like to keep it that way.

"I can't give you the planet's location, miss," she informed her, trying not to sound condescending. "But I can give you the description; it has four continents, standard gravity and atmosphere, mostly average climate save for the northern regions, and a _lot_ of castles."

Tris appeared thoughtful for a moment as if remembering something before her eyes lit up in recognition. "I think I know what planet you're speaking of, now, ma'am. Wait right here," she commanded and turned sharply on her heel to stride forth to the history section of the library, leaving Rae behind in her wake.

Not ten minutes later, the graceful Chiss librarian returned with five books in her hands, dropping them on the table in front of Rae.

"Here you are," she indicated, her voice dry. "Try not to spill any caf on them, please? Heaven knows you'll need it slogging through all that."

Rae waved her off, eager to begin her work. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Tris, for your help. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be alone for a little bit."

The librarian nodded, probably eager to get away from the offworlder, and walked off to presumably where her desk was. Rae turned her attention back to her books, and started on the first one that came to her attention, _The Yuuzhan Vong- History and Culture in the Modern Era_ …

* * *

She was drinking her fourth cup of caff when she had finally finished _Killiks- A Treatise_. She rubbed her tired eyes in annoyance- she never knew how her mentor could do it, going on for hours studying his enemies in excruciating detail without getting tired or breaking a sweat. 'Know your enemies, Captain Sloane,' he had said to her at the Academy, 'as intimately as you know yourself. Not simply their battle tactics, but their history, their philosophy. Their art. You do that, and there will be no foe that you will not conquer.'

 _I wonder what the Grand Admiral would think about a foe who had no art to speak of,_ she thought as she took another sip of her caf, suppressing a shudder as the images of that monster and its barbaric attack on the research station on Vector Prime wormed their way through her mind.

The thing had twisted their bodies, broke the scientists and their guards alike with inhuman ease. What horrified her the most is that no weapon seemed to harm it, bouncing off its icy skin like impenetrable armor. And then…that monster had resurrected its victims, like a puppeteer, twisting the corpses into something foul and vicious. In her study of history, she had read something similar; a foul plague that had struck the Outer Rim during the Mandalorian Wars called the rakghoul plague, where the infected turned into mindless, feral beasts, driven only by the will to kill, devour, and spread the infection...

She heard her commlink beep and took it out to answer it.

"Ma'am..." came the voice at the other end. "You've been there for quite a while, now. Five standard hours, to be more precise."

"Pish-posh, Gordon," she waved off, suppressing a yawn as she set down her second-to-last book. "I'm almost done here, anyway. Just one more book to go and I'll be done, here. Meanwhile, continue to hold your position outside the system."

"Roger that, ma'am," he replied, as crisp as ever. "Usual schedule, then, for shift change?"

"Yes," Rae responded. "We're still keeping SOPs as long as we're here. Just keep the fleet away for the time being. I'll let you know if shit goes south."

She could hear a sigh at the other end. "Understood, ma'am. Uthbar out."

She put the commlink back in her pocket and rubbed her hands over her tired face. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to this sort of tediousness- far from it. It seemed nearly every day for her was filing and going over paperwork of some sort, either compiled from the captains of her vessels or stacked to be sent off to Oversector Command, which was then sent onto HIGHCOM. But the _amount_ of information in these books was staggering. So far, she had learned of what the barbarians in the region did, what their history was, their culture. She even read a few pages detailing Yethveni cuisine, for crying out loud, and she honestly didn't know if it would help her at all.

She didn't have her mentor's talent for picking out the small details, after all.

She turned her attention to the last book, which, compared to the others, was dusty and old, with pages yellowed from age and wear, bound in worn, brown leather. In gilded, ancient lettering were words in Aurebesh, indicating to her that this must have been a translated work.

 _ **The Histories of the Peoples of Valaryos, by Grand-Maester Martin.**_

 _Valaryos. So, that's the actual name of the planet_ , Rae thought as she opened the old book, ignoring the rather drool preface and skipping right to the table of contents.

"Let's see…" she began looking. "I landed on the western continent, so Westeros would be a good start," she realized, looked under the heading labeled 'Westeros'.

"Hmm…The North looks promising," she whistled. By the Force, there were a lot of noble houses detailed in the section. She began to scroll down. "Let's see…House Umber, no. Not House Giantsbane, either. Glover, no. Bolton, no. Mormont, negative. House Stark…"

Right next to the words was a picture of a snarling, grey wolf.

 _There. That's the one I'm looking for._

She flipped to the section that detailed the history of the ancient northern noble house-scratch that, _royal_ house, and began to read:

 _The history of House Stark is a long history, and could fill an entire library the size of the Citadel alone should one dedicate himself to detailing it. For now, we will cover the essentials, detailing times of critical importance and major events._

 _House Stark began as a vassal house to the Dustins of Barrowton, but through changing circumstances, and a truly dire threat, came to prominence in the North by the time of the Long Night, which saw Brandon the Builder, with the aid of his allies, drive out the accursed White Walkers from our lands, and erect the Wall to keep them out; a Wall which stood until the early days of Jon II the Great, who decisively defeated the White Walkers once and for all. Brandon then founded the seat of House Stark, Winterfell, and from there ruled as Kings in the North for eight millennia unbroken. Under the wise and just rule of the Starks, the men of the North enjoyed prosperity and were united in their repulsion of the Andalic invaders from the East. It was only when the Conqueror, Aegon the First, arrived in Westeros with his war-dragons, did King Torrhen Stark bend the knee. Thus, the Starks became Wardens of the North for three hundred years until the time of the barbaric devastation known as the War of the Five Kings._

Rae let that sink in for a moment. Apparently, these guys were the stuff of legend... and dogged if their longevity as a noble house was any indication. She took another sip of her caff and continued.

 _The War of the Five Kings saw the kingdoms of Westeros rent apart, and the cost was especially dear to House Stark, as it lost over half of its beginning family. No one knows the true reasons why the Lady Catelyn captured Tyrion Lannister, but what is certain is that it ignited a conflict between the Great Houses that would only be rivaled by the Second War for the Dawn in terms of devastation. After the execution of Lord Eddard Stark by the hands of Joffrey the Illborn, his eldest son, Robb, called the Young Wolf by his men, rose in revolt, and retook the ancient crown of his forbearers. His campaign has been studied by many in our order and has been called one of the greatest tacticians of the old era. It was he who defeated Ser Jaime Lannister outside of Riverrun at the Whispering Wood, though Jaime's host was much larger than his own. It was the Young Wolf who defeated the Lannister reserves at Oxcross and proceeded to sack the Westerlands. Every time he faced battle, his enemies were thrown into disarray, and every time Lord Tywin tried to catch him, he slipped away like a wolf in the night._

 _However, as tactically competent as he was, he was shortsighted and arrogant, as he was only a boy of seventeen when he went to war. It is often said that the Young Wolf won the war in the field, but lost it in the bedchamber._

 _When King Robb married the Volantese woman Talisa Maegyr, he broke his promise to one of his chief allies, Lord Walder Frey, and his trust in Theon Greyjoy proved disastrous, as the betrayer sacked Winterfell and put most of the inhabitants to the sword. And secretly unbeknownst to the Young Wolf, his allies, Walder and Roose Bolton, conspired with none other than Lord Tywin to kill him and usurp his throne. And so, they did. On the night of April 24, 300 AC, they sprung their trap at the wedding between Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey, in the Twins, slaughtering the King, his wife, their entourage, and most of his army, in a black event that became known as the Red Wedding. So the king died, not in glory, but in tragedy, and his kingdom would not be restored until a year later when his brother Jon retook the North from the Boltons in the Battle of the Bastards…_

Rae stopped right there for the moment, letting the information sink in while staring at a picture of the king in question.

It was the same king as she saw in that tomb.

She rubbed her head. Why did she need to find this? What possible reason or entity wanted to find it? A dead king long past on a planet long forgotten? It didn't make sense…unless…

The Grey Wolf.

No one knew what the terrorist looked like, but one of the messages that he left behind after his butcheries were the exact same phrase as the words that this ancient house had prided themselves on.

 _Winter is Coming_.

Rae didn't know what it meant, but from the wording, it sounded like a warning. To whom, though, or what? It was a question she needed answering, but she figured that this Grey Wolf might be descendent of these Starks, and was looking for a possible resurgence of the ancient house.

 _Speaking of winter…_

She flipped to a section in the Westerosi History titled "The Wars for the Dawn.", and nearly spat out her caf in horror at what she saw gracing the image page.

There, before her, staring at her with cold, blue eyes, was a painting of the same creature that had destroyed Vector Prime.

 _The Night's King,_ the heading read, _Leader of the White Walkers, and Commander of the Host of the Dead._

" _ **The Long Night is coming, Rae Sloane,"**_ a voice spoke out of the emptiness, powerful and commanding. _**"And the dead come with it."**_

Rae shook her head, and when she looked back up, the voice was silent. She looked back down at her book, and a shudder when through her spine.

 _Is that what's happening?_ She asked herself. _Are the Vong fleeing whatever is rising out of the east?_

She didn't know the answer, but her gut churned in dread, telling her that this war between the Empire and the Rebellion was but a sideshow…

And that the great war to come would make the Clone Wars look like a cakewalk.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, another chapter complete! Sorry, this one doesn't have any action in it.**

 **So, Rae finds out about the past of the planet Robb comes from and the identity of the Night's King. Now, few know this, but originally, I was planning on having the planet as Medriaas, the homeworld of Valkorian, but I changed this for some pretty glaring reasons, namely that there was no way that House Stark would work with the Sith, considering those fuckers make the Boltons look sane by comparison. Now, there is a reason why Valaryos is devoid of all life and will be expounded upon in later chapters.**

 **As for how the Chiss have that information? Well, the Chiss are extremely isolationist and powerful, but also extremely curious. Therefore, it stands to reason that they would have documented and collected works on Valaryos, and then promptly hid that information from the rest of the galaxy.**

 **Now, who is the Promised Prince who will lead the galaxy against the Night King in the Third War for the Dawn? Will it be Thrawn? Vader? Luke? Or someone else entirely?**

 **Till the next!**


	14. The Protector

_Cu'bikahd_ was an interesting game, Fenn Rau mused, certainly more interesting than the more widely popular dejarik.

The grizzled warrior, a former bodyguard to Duchess Satine Kryze and founder of the Protectors of Concord Dawn, current prisoner of the nascent rebellion against the Empire, studied the eponymous holographic cube, noting the position of his blades, which were colored cyan, and those of his opponent, colored orange. Normally, if anyone in this damned pathetic excuse for a military would play a game of strategy with him, he would welcome it.

That is, if they weren't a kriffing _dar'manda_ oathbreaker and traitor, like the one sitting across from him now.

He had met the infamous White Raven on Concord Dawn, when she and that Jedi, Jarrus, were seeking retribution for the attempted murder of Jarrus' lover, Hera Syndulla.

Fenn had to suppress a sneer. Syndulla's near-death incident was the cause of two enemy combatants engaging each other in hard contact. It was _war_ , nothing more, nothing less. To think Wren had the gall of accusing him of cowardice…sometimes he wondered if he could have throttled the traitor right then and there, given his lack of restraints at the moment, were it not for the guards and the fact that her crew would go to great lengths to avenge her.

Especially that cold, dead-eyed Grey Wolf.

He had heard the stories about his brutality from the guards, rumors about how he mutilated the bodies of Imperial stormtroopers and officers, sticking their heads upon pikes and painting chilling messages in their blood, all to warn the Empire that their tyranny would no longer be tolerated.

Fenn scoffed. Robb Stark was a fool. The Empire was too vast, too technologically advanced, and too powerful to ever take down. Many nations had tried to fight the Emperor and his fleets and legions- all of them were either eradicated or made to serve the will of Coruscant and its master. One man, no matter how good, could never hope to tackle such a beast.

No one could.

He took his mind off such brooding thoughts, however, and refocused his attention back to the game at hand. He was immediately intrigued, however, when he saw the strategy his opponent was attempting.

Or the lack thereof.

"Blade to Cubeface-4?" he inquired, somewhat amused at her boldness. "That's a brazen strategy. You play with far too much bravado."

Sabine smirked at him. _Oh, how I want to rip it off_. "Strategy is an art, Rau," she boasted, making that irritating comparison to her love of the arts. Again. "Maybe I'm just luring you into a false sense of security."

Fenn guffawed. "Ha! There's nothing false about it. Blade to Cubeface-2," he indicated to the droid, who moved the piece accordingly, knocking out Sabine's key piece and turning the entire board Red.

Score one for the loyalist.

"I win," he bragged, smirking back at the traitor. "You know, I've bet your game has slipped since you fled Mandalore." he gloated as he let his smirk settle into a frown. "Why do you keep coming back here? You and your friends have imprisoned me. My men have orders to give you safe passage through our system, so what more can you want?"

Sabine didn't answer him, at first, instead motioning to the droid with her head. "Reset the board, Chop," she commanded, before deigning to answer him. "I want what we've always wanted, Rau; for you and your Protectors to join the Rebellion. To fight the Empire."

Fenn scoffed. Really? Again? This was what her little social call was about? Alright, he'll humor her.

"I made a deal with the Empire to _survive_ ," he stressed, not expecting her to understand. He didn't care. "I made a deal with your rebellion to survive. But joining _you_?" he spat, pointedly ignoring the fact that her amber eyes had hardened into steel. "My only true loyalty is to _Mandalore_ , something I don't expect you to understand," he insulted, causing her to glare at him. "You know, though, I do admire your persistence. You would have made a good Protector, where it not for your treasonous past."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Not this, again."

"You know, you can still redeem yourself," he pressed, not entirely sure why he was doing this. "If I were released, we can join forces and fight not for the rebellion, nor for the Empire, but for Mandalore."

He saw the wheels turning in her head, as she folded her hands in front of her mouth and adopted a thoughtful expression. She looked like she was about to reply when they were both interrupted by her Lasat companion; Zeb, he thinks he called himself.

"Sorry to interrupt your playtime, but Hera needs you on the bridge," he commanded, turning to glare at Fenn. "Both of you," he added with much hesitancy.

Fenn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. What would she want with him? Certainly, not a social call- he did almost kill her, after all, and he doubted either her lover or her adopted son have forgiven him entirely for that. Still, if the Rebels were needing him that badly, it had to be something of importance. Besides, it certainly beat sitting in his cell for another month or so.

"So, shall we?" The traitor asked him tersely, beckoning him to follow her.

Fenn snorted. "As you wish, Wren."

CR90 corvettes were not large ships, Rau discovered when they made the short walk to the command center. At only a scant one-hundred thirty meters long, and armed with only two dual laser cannon turrets and four single cannon turrets, it could not stand against even an _Arquitens_ -class light cruiser, let alone an _Imperial_ -class Star Destroyer.

Then again, it's role was not intended to be a battlecruiser, was it? No, it's role was primarily to slip in and out of blockades and to act as an anti-fighter platform.

A perfect vessel for these rebels, then, he thought amusedly as he was brought to the bridge of the _Liberator_.

"Journeyman Rau," the commander of Phoenix Squadron, Jun Sato, greeted him nonchalantly as he came to the bridge.

"Commander Sato," he replied just as dryly, eager to just get this over with and back to his cell, away from these fools. "Why did you bring me up here, Syndulla?" He turned to the leader of the squadron's fighter wing. "Did you rebels suddenly decide to warm up to me?"

"Nope," Hera fired back. "Just making sure you aren't about to plant a dagger in our backs."

 _Dagger in their backs? What the hell is she talking about?_ Fenn thought incredulously before the Twi'lek captain punched in a few keys, and the display table lit up with a projection of a planet, with swirling purple clouds and a huge chunk of the southern hemisphere blown to kingdom come.

 _Concord Dawn_.

"We've lost contact with the Mandalorian base on Concord Dawn, about five standard hours ago," Hera informed, and Fenn swore that the air dropped a few degrees in temperature.

Sato turned his attention to him, and he swore he could feel the sudden cold evaporate in the heat of his glare. "Rebel command is concerned that you and your Journeyman Protectors are setting a trap for us."

Wait?

What?

Fenn fumed. How dare they question a Mando's sacred honor? When one swore an oath, one was expected to keep that oath to the point of death, or forever be cursed as _dar'manda_ , a man without a soul.

"Impossible," he spat. "My men are loyal to my word, and my word alone. Your safe passage through our space is secure. If you've lost communication, something's happened."

The traitor stepped forth. "I'll go check it out," she declared with certainty and finality. He was almost taken aback. Was the White Raven truly loyal to this cause? He cleared his head of those thoughts. _No, you fool_ , he mentally chided himself. _She's simply using them for her own ends. Regardless, my men will never listen to her…_

"I should go with you," he requested, beginning to hatch a plan. If this worked, he could be home free, doubly so if he turned the tables, captured Wren, and brought her to the Kar'a for trial. "They're my men, I can talk to them."

"Wait a minute…" the Lasat grumbled. "Isn't this bugger our _prisoner_?" He complained.

The blind Jedi, Kanan, smirked. "More like our very cranky guest," he snarked. Rau had to chuckle slightly at that, though last time he had seen Jarrus, he had his sight.

He wondered what had happened these past several months while he was cooped up in a prison cell.

"Alright..." Hera drawled out, apparently distrusting of him. "He can go, but he stays in binders. You're in charge of the mission Sabine. Take Ezra and Chopper, and do a recon sweep of their base. But you are not to land or engage. If you encounter trouble, I want you to come right back home," she commanded, then looked pointedly at Bridger's direction. "And try not to lose the _Phantom II_? We just got that thing."

"Understood, ma'am," Bridger sighed, then walked with Sabine and their droid to their new replacement shuttle, already painted and ready to fly. Rau's mind went into overdrive, as his heart soared with elation at the news.

Wren, she would be more cautious around him, that was for certain, but Bridger? Oh, the boy may have been a good warrior, he'll give him that much, but from what he had heard, the orphan from Lothal was still socially awkward and somewhat naïve. If he could get Bridger alone for a few minutes.

"With your permission, ma'am," a deep, Kuati-sounding voice rumbled out of the back of the war-room, and Rau froze in his tracks. "I'd like to accompany Ezra and Sabine on their mission."

"Any reason why, Robb?" Hera asked the black armored man, and Fenn's heart sank. If Stark was going to be going on this little mission of theirs, escape was going to be much harder than originally anticipated. Wren and Bridger he could handle, but Stark was nothing if not hyper-vigilant. Untrusting except for those closest to him, and unlike the rest of the crew, he had no qualms about using deadly force as a first option. A true, hardened killer in the midst of a ragtag group of farm boys and idealists.

Rau grimaced. Great, just when he thought he was getting out of here.

"I don't trust Rau," Robb said, pointing a thumb in his direction. "The man is dangerous, and Sabine and Ezra will have their hands full just doing the recon sweep. Besides, I've been coupled in on Atollon for far too long while you were having all the fun."

Hera snorted. "Having a run in with the best commander the Empire has to offer isn't my idea of fun, nor is Sabine almost getting herself captured during that mission to Skystrike, nor is half my crew nearly getting killed on that planet full of old battle droids," she sighed. "Alright, Master Chief, you have my permission to tag along on the mission. Just make sure the kids don't do anything reckless."

Robb flashed her a cheeky grin. "If they're anything like their parents, Hera, they have nothing to worry about."

The Twi'lek pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's what worries me, especially with Ezra taking after Kanan."

Robb shot her a sharp salute, which she immediately returned, and then began to stalk his way towards where Rau was standing, still in binders. Cold sapphires gazed into stormy oceans when Stark got close enough, and when he spoke, he spoke in a voice that was void of all the emotion he had conveyed to Hera. Of course, he wasn't in his little pack, Rau mused to himself.

"Well, Journeyman." The wolf spoke, beckoning him on. "Shall we?"

* * *

Concord Dawn wasn't too far from Atollon, at the very heart of Mandalorian Space, therefore only taking a couple of standard hours to travel.

Fenn mused silently to himself, as he sat across from the Grey Wolf while Wren and Bridger were manning the cockpit. According to the star charts, more than a thousand systems in the Northern Outer Rim lay under the suzerainty of Mandalore, making it almost as large as the territory controlled by the Hutts in the south. Once, the Mandalorians were the masters of the entire Rim, an empire that was feared and respected in equal measure, and made the Republic tremble in terror, before the Grey Knight, Revan the Butcher, and his Revanchists turned the tide and crushed them at Malachor. Ever since then, the Mandalorians had seen their ups and downs, but only fairly recently had they seen their decline and subjection under the Empire. Once more, Rau cursed House Vizsla. If not for Tor's lust for power and Pre's recklessness, _Manda'yim_ would have remained strong and proud under the wise leadership of Jaster Mereel, the last true Mand'alor.

He had only heard stories about what Mereel was like from his mentor, Kal Skirata, but from what he had heard, it was the last time _Manda'yim_ was truly strong and whole. Satine had tried her best in the aftermath of the devastating conflict with Death Watch, those traitors, but her overly idealistic ways and stubborn refusal to change her stance had alienated her from much of her support from the ruling clans, who became so enraged by her policies that most stayed neutral, turned to mercenary work, or outright joined Death Watch. Despite all this, he was still loyal to the throne, and thus joined the Journeyman Protectors; the ancient and revered militia which mostly kept the balance in Mandalorian society.

He smiled in slight fondness at the memory. As eventual leader of the Protectors, he could decide whom he would fight for and when. Fortune had it that the _Kyr'tsad_ initially joined up with Dooku and his so-called "Confederacy of Independent Systems", which made his choice rather easy; he had signed his forces on with the Galactic Republic.

Oh, what battles there were. Flying through the skies and through the vastness of space, cutting down vulture droids like a scythe through wheat. Slogging it out on the ground with legions of clones, ripping through battle droids left and right. It was like the times of old come anew, and the spirit of his ancestors flowed through him.

But in the end, it had all been for naught. Mandalore fell to the Death Watch, Satine was killed by Maul, the Republic became the Empire and slaughtered it's Jedi protectors, and Gar Saxon assumed power as Imperial Viceroy, styling himself as "The Hand of Palpatine".

Fenn gritted his teeth. Clan Saxon; those men were the very definition of _dar'manda_. When Pre lost his head, they found a new leader in Maul. When Maul was driven off the planet, they sided with the Emperor and assisted him in the brutal subjection of their own homeland. To say that he despised them greatly…well, that would be like pointing out that space was black.

"What is your problem with Sabine?" Robb's quiet voice brought him out of his musings. The Protector looked at the Grey Wolf, his eyes gleaming like cold lakes.

Fortunately for Rau at this very moment, the door to the cockpit was closed, leaving just himself and Robb in the passenger section, so he was able to give his opinion of her freely and truthfully, without having her meddling Jedi friend step in and lambaste him over things he did not understand.

But then again, when has that stopped him before?

" _Dar'manda_ ," he spat, the word slipping off his tongue like oil. "She and her whole family are nothing but traitors and turncoats."

"And you are good and true?" Robb questioned back. "From what I heard, when you and your men saw the Empire's legions bearing down upon your worlds, did you valiantly raise up arms against them? Or did you tuck tail like a beaten dog and prostrate yourself before them, just so you could meek out a meager existence on some remote planet?"

Fenn's eyes narrowed in anger, and his nostrils flared. "Be careful with your words, Stark. It's easy to call a man a craven if he's in chains."

"And what would you do if you were out of chains, hm?" Robb quirked an eyebrow. "Try to gut me? Strangle me? Your chances of that are slim, especially if you underestimate me. And even if you _do_ manage to strike me down, my friends would pick up my blade and avenge my death. Sabine, especially." Robb calmly informed him as he flexed his right hand. "She saved my life, you know? Stabbed Maul in the back when I lay before him, helpless and injured. I'd be dead if not for her. She has more than earned my trust and loyalty."

Fenn sputtered, not quite believing what he was hearing. "You can't trust her, she's-"

"-honorable and forthright, which is more than I can say for some," Robb replied calmly to the veteran Protector.

Fenn gritted his teeth. "She's an oathbreaker, Stark!" he seethed. "She forswore her sacred vow made at the Academy, and ran like a craven when Mandalore and her clan needed her most."

"Does the Force smile upon those who keep their oaths to men they know are evil?" Robb juxtaposed to him. "Aye, I will admit, Sabine is still something of a summer knight, green as grass itself. But what she did at the Academy- standing up for what she knew was just- that takes _courage_ , Fenn of Clan Rau, and I notice the same kind of courage and honor in her and young Bridger, both."

Fenn said nothing for a long moment, his thoughts churning and boiling until at last, he drew slowly.

"Tell me…Stark…you speak of honor and courage, and yet how honorable is it to butcher soldiers merely doing their jobs like cattle? To mutilate their bodies and paint messages in their blood? You are nothing more than a bandit and a bully. You see fit to lecture me on bravery, yet you hid from your crimes every kriffing day, thinking that by joining this band of idealistic fools and idiots you somehow atone for your crimes!" he ranted. "Well, let me tell you exactly what you are doing, Stark; you aren't helping anything! The Empire is infinite! For every patrol you butcher, they raze a settlement to the ground. For every officer you hang on a cross, they do the same to some farmer and his family! And sure, the fools in the Rim might love you for it, but in the Core, they burn your effigy. You can't win!" he snarled, his breath now coming out haphazardly. "No one can. Not against Palpatine."

Robb hooded his eyes for a moment- just a brief, antagonizing moment, before he glared at Rau, again. "You're wrong, Rau. I do not hide from my crimes- I live with the consequences of them every day. Every night, I am haunted by the faces of my past, both the people I failed and the young men whose lives I have cut short. Every one of them drives me forward. Aye, I will not lie, I am not a good man, anymore, not by a long shot. But I will continue to fight, Fenn, so that the truly good men and women of this galaxy have a chance to _live_ , to experience life in all its joys and sorrows." He corrected, then pointed to the cockpit. "And the Empire is not as all-powerful as you think. If they were, the rebellion should have been stamped out long ago, but it _hasn't_. Even with every loss, every defeat, it continues to grow and grow." He paused for a moment. "I was once a lot like you; a cynic who didn't believe in anything or anyone, just content to drink my life away in some cantina on a backwater planet. That is until the day I saw what Bridger and his kind can do," he said, pointing to the cabin. "They made me believe in something worthy, again. They made me see that there is still something worth fighting for."

Fenn said nothing, instead choosing to contemplate Robb's words as the ship pulled out of hyperspace, the door to the cockpit sliding open to reveal Concord Dawn before them.

"Whoa..." Ezra whistled. "What happened here."

"Numerous civil wars happened here," Sabine answered, her voice filled with sadness. Fenn, despite his dislike of her, could only agree with her solemnly as they pulled closer to the planets orbit.

"Mandalore has weathered many trials in the past," he explained. "We will weather the Empire and this rebellion."

"Too bad we can't seem to weather our people not wanting to work with one another." Sabine replied, pointing to the broken southern hemisphere. "Face it, Rau, the clans haven't gotten along with each other since the death of Jaster Mereel."

Fenn could only nod. Gar Saxon may have been named Viceroy by the will of Palpatine, but he was, by all accounts, a usurper. Perhaps one day, a true leader could claim the throne and lead their people to greatness once again.

Perhaps.

" _Concord'vaar'tur Abiik'bral, ibici Prudi Rayshe'a. Gedet'ye me'vaar ti gar?"_ Sabine keyed to the airbase on the third moon of the planet, as their droid conducted a planet-wide recon scan, and Bridger appeared to be reaching out with what the _jetiise_ called the 'Force'.

An alarmed wobble from the droid alerted everyone in the shuttle, as Bridger turned worriedly to his friend.

"Bean, how big did you say this base was?" he asked, his voice growing full of trepidation. Now Fenn was growing alarmed. What was going on down there? What had happened to his brothers-in-arms?

Sabine repeated the transmission a third time, and again, not receiving any response from the airbase.

"Sabine…" Robb began, keeping one eye on Fenn. "I think it's time we get out of here."

"No!" Fenn snarled. "Not until I find out what's happened to my men!"

"Hera ordered us not to land…" Sabine began to protest but was cut off by Fenn.

"I believe your orders were to find out what happened to the base!" he snapped. "You can't very well do that from here, can you?"

"You aren't our superior, Rau," Ezra snapped back. "Besides, if they aren't responding to anything we try, they're most likely either dead or trying to ambush us."

"I already told you, boy," Fenn rebuked, "my men are loyal to me! How can they be plotting an ambush if _I'm not there to command them to?_ "

" _ **ENOUGH!"**_ Robb's yell cut through the rising tension, silencing everyone onboard. The Grey Wolf turned to Sabine. "Look, Hera's orders were to find out what happened here. That takes priority over staying in the air. All we are doing by staying up here is failing in our mission."

Sabine turned to him, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You do realize that I'm in command of this mission, right?"

Robb nodded. "Of course, but as a senior non-commissioned officer, I can still advise you on what to do and not to do," he pointed out to the moon. "Besides, if Hera yells at you for this, I'll take the blame. Tell her our mission parameters changed due to unforeseen circumstances. Which, in all honesty, they probably have."

Before they could continue the discussion further, Chopper warbled something in alarm.

"Ship incoming!" Ezra yelled. "I don't recognize the class."

"I do," Sabine groaned. " _Kom'rk_ -class fighter/transport. IFF bears two markings."

"Which two markings?" Robb asked worriedly, although Fenn probably already knew the answer.

"One's the Imperial cog. So, we know they aren't friendly. The other…" her voice trailed off. "The other is the sigil of Clan Saxon; black serpent on a red field, eating its own tail."

Fenn's eyes narrowed. "What are they doing all the way out…" he trailed off, realizing the implication. "No…."

"Rau, what is it?" Sabine asked, her voice filled with worry.

"We need to get down there, now!" he yelled, moving towards the control console before being shoved back into his seat by Robb.

"And we will. We have to if we want to evade them because somehow I get the feeling it's faster than us." Robb said, pointing towards the window, where among the backdrop of black space and distant stars, they could make out a single point of light growing bigger and bigger. The crew took the hint and dove towards the moon below

"Set down in one of the canyons." Fenn pointed out, waving his hand to a rocky outcropping on the planet's surface. "Their sensors can't track us in there."

With the grace of a falcon, Sabine swiftly turned course and headed for the gorge, choosing to land on a flat patch of earth with an outcropping of limestone over it.

As soon as the ship landed at the end of the canyon, and it was safe for the party to disengage the landing ramp, the oathbreaker turned to the crew.

"Alright, since the last plan went south, we're going with a new one," she informed as she programmed coordinates into her vambrace. "Chopper, you stay here and make sure no one spots the ship. We'll call you if we need back up. Rau, you'll accompany Ezra and me to the main Protector's encampment. Robb, you'll provide overwatch for us on one of the cliffs surrounding the base."

"Roger," Robb sounded off, hefting his DC-15s, and copying the coordinates to the base before exiting the shuttle.

"Well, Fenn..." Sabine fixed him with a stare. "You wanted to find out what happened to your men. So, you lead the way."

* * *

Fenn had almost forgotten how arid and dry this little moon was. Even though it was the early evening, the temperatures here were still sweltering. Fortunately, the place where they had set it down was only a couple clicks away from the base, so they didn't have to walk too far.

He was growing more anxious by the minute, though he wouldn't show it in front of Sabine and her Jedi companion. His mind raced with all the possibilities, as he tried to ignore the pit of dread that had been forming in his stomach ever since Syndulla told him that his men had broken contact with them.

Soon enough, they ascended over one of the hills that surrounded the base, and before him…

 _No._ His mind screamed as he surveyed the damage before him.

Laying before them was the base of the Protectors, or what was left of it. Buildings once housing dozens of men were burning, the orange flames illuminating the evening sky. Everywhere, the bodies of his men were scattered, broken and bloody.

He wanted to claw his eyes out right then and there, so he could erase the sight of his brothers' twisted bodies from his mind. He wanted to throttle that traitor on the spot, then use her broken corpse to beat Gar and his men to death with. But in the end…

…all he could do was drop to his knees in disbelief, and curse everything around him.

For the Journeyman Protectors- that ancient and noble order of guardians- was no more. Destroyed by an Empire, capricious and malevolent.

He had failed, again.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that was a pretty long chapter, eh?**

 **In truth, this is probably the greatest amount of exposition I've done so far, but it's all for a reason. Fenn Rau, while an awesome recurring character, doesn't have much backstory as far as it goes, asides from bits and pieces told by Pablo and the rest. So, I made up my own for him.**

 **It never made sense for me that Hera wouldn't consider the possibility that the Protectors might be…well…dead, and that if you are going to recon an area, you need to do a COMPLETE recon of the area, not just aerial. Besides, something about her plan…to me it felt like it allowed no room for contingencies, which is essential in planning an op, but what do I know? I was only a scout for three years of my life.**

 **Yep, Robb has been promoted to the rank of Master Chief Petty Officer. I didn't want to give him an officer's rank (there are enough of those), but I felt that his personality would fit in well with that of a crusty old Senior NCO.**

 **I based the Clan Sigil of Clan Saxon on the Norse version of the Ouroboros, just as I based Clan Wren's sigil off a version of Odin's ravens.**

 **Mando'a, for those wondering:**

 _ **Cu'bikahd:**_ **Mandalorian board game. Involves knives, patience, and cunning.**

 _ **Dar'manda:**_ **Without Soul. Used as a colloquium for referring to Mandalorians who have lost their sacred honor, and are thus viewed as soulless traitors.**

 _ **Kyr'tsad:**_ **Death Watch. A group of Mandalorian extremists who believed in returning to the glory days of the Crusades under Mandalore the Indomitable.**

 _ **Komr'k:**_ **Gauntlet.**

 _ **Concord'vaar'tur Abiik'bral, ibici Prudi Rayshe'a. Gedet'ye me'vaar ti gar?:**_ **"Concord Dawn Airbase, this is Specter Five. Please respond, over?"**

 _ **Kar'a:**_ **Name of an ancient, legendary council. Now used to describe the council of clan chieftains and counts, which decide on matters of the gravest emergency, such as the election of the next Mand'alor.**

 _ **Manda'yim:**_ **The homeworld of the Mandalorians**

 _ **Mand'alor:**_ **The warrior-king of the Mandalorian people.**

 _ **Mando'ade:**_ **The Mandalorian people.**

 _ **Mando'a:**_ **The language is spoken by those residing in Mandalorian Space alongside Galactic Basic.**

 _ **Jetiise:**_ **Jedi.**

 **Till the next!**


	15. Ezra II

_How?_

Ezra was damned sure that question was burning on everyone's mind as they toured the ruins of the once proud Protector Base.

Everywhere he looked, bodies lay on the ground, most of them Protectors, and a few others he couldn't identify. The barracks, the fuel depots, the hangers- everything had been put to the torch and burned to oblivion, the carbon scoring suggesting that a frigate had passed overhead after the defenses went down.

"Specter 5, this is Specter 7," Robb spoke to them over the comms. "I don't know about you, but I'm not picking up any signs of life. It looks like our Saxon friends went to town on these guys, over."

"Acknowledged, Specter 7," Sabine answered, as Rau picked up a helmet with a cracked visor, obviously belonging to one of his friends. "I'd advise we keep comms to a minimum, over."

"Understood, Specter 5. 7, out," Robb confirmed before some muttering from Fenn took his attention.

"Cratering from rockets, blaster strikes from above," he muttered and shook his head angrily. "Definitely an ambush from another clan, alright!"

Well, that explained a lot, he supposed. Still though…

"I don't get it," he confessed. "Why would Mandalorians attack other Mandalorians? I thought you guys were one nation."

Sabine sighed. "It's…complicated, Ezra. To make a long story short, the clans have always fought against one another for one reason or another," his best friend informed him before she turned back to Rau. "Listen, Rau, I'm…"

"This is all _your_ fault!" Rau spat at her, the venom clear in his eyes. "Were it not for you and your rebels locking me up, I could have prevented this!"

"We didn't mean for this to happen, and you know that!" Sabine protested. "They were _my_ people, too, Fenn."

"Don't you lecture me about _your_ people!" Fenn snarled, wagging an accusing finger at her. "What do _you_ know of loyalty or honor?"

Ezra narrowed his eyes, and found his right-hand straying near his lightsaber, sensing hostile intent coming from the Protector. Fortunately for them both, however, Sabine acted first, taking off her helmet and glaring Rau down.

"I am _not_ your enemy, Rau!" she rebuked. "None of this makes any sense! Why would Clan Saxon want to annihilate the Protectors? What would they have to gain from it? The Protectors are loyal to the throne, and recruit from the best warriors from within every clan and house!"

Ezra was getting more and more confused the longer this conversation went on. He made a mental note to study up on Mandalorian culture and politics the minute he got back to the Ghost.

Well, that is, if Hera didn't end up demoting them all in a fury.

"Specters 5 and 6, this is 7," Robb sounded off on his comms again, sounding equal parts annoyed and alarmed. "I hate to break up your lovely argument, but you might want to know that there's an Imperial probe droid bearing down on you from the northwest, over."

Ezra sensed it, as well, and his Force-enhanced reflexes allowed him to duck just in time, right before the first ruby red bolt sailed over his head.

"Karking hell!" Sabine cursed, firing her blaster at the floating android. "It's trying to transmit our position!" she screamed as they dove for some cover, behind a stack of durasteel crates.

Ezra closed his eyes, and sunk himself into the currents of the Force, reaching out for the infernal machine trying to desperately kill them. Finding his target, he latched on and felt his brow furrow as the droid frantically tried to free itself from invisible, vice-like talons.

"Sabine…" he strained, "shoot that thing, please!" He could almost feel the thing start to rip his arm out from his socket. "Any time now would be nice!"

"Working on it!" she yelled back. He heard three zinging shots in quick succession, and the droid's presence in the Force abruptly ceased, as he opened his eyes and saw the probe droid reduced to smoldering wreckage.

"You think it got off a transmission?" he asked Sabine, who shrugged and gave her witty, sarcastic answer the way only she could.

"Well, either we're fine, or there's a squadron heading right for us. And judging by our luck, it's probably going to be the latter." she deadpanned.

"Good point," he admitted. "We're leaving." He keyed in his coms. "Chopper, start spinning up the _Phantom._ "

" _Whomp boro wump ba wump,"_ was the reply from the cantankerous droid.

As they were leaving, however, Ezra noticed Fenn stay put where he was. He stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes. Great, just what they kriffing needed right now!

"Fenn," he heard Sabine beg him, "we need to get moving."

Fenn scoffed. "I have no intention of leaving. Certainly, not with _you!_ "

Ezra heard an exasperated sigh come out from Sabine's speakers in her helmet. "You know the Empire is on their way!" she yelled at him. What came out of Fenn's mouth next, however, put them both on alert.

"I've dealt with them before, and I can deal with them again, only this time I can use the location of your Rebel base as a bargaining chip," he taunted. "It's no less than you deserve after causing all this."

Ezra sensed alarm and anger flash through Sabine, as she quickly drew one of her blaster pistols and aimed it at Rau's head, as fast as lightning.

"I won't let you do that," she warned, her voice void of its usual warmth. In that instance, Ezra could not help but notice how much like Robb she now sounded...

...and he didn't know whether to be amused or afraid.

Regardless, he attempted to de-escalate the situation, whilst keeping his sword hand on his lightsaber.

"Guys…" he tried to warn him, putting his free hand on Sabine's shoulder. She seemed to let it linger for a moment, before shrugging it off.

"Last chance, Rau," she offered her final warning, her voice cold steel. "Come with us, or your corpse will feed the buzzards."

"Specter 5, this is Specter 7, over!" Robb's alarmed voice came out over the comms, snapping everyone out of their present tensions. "Be advised, I'm tracking seven air mobiles inbound right towards your position! I'd strongly advise you to get to cover-"

The transmission was cut off, which made the hairs on the back of Ezra's neck stand up. He would not give into fear and panic, for he was a Jedi, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut that told him something had happened to a man he came to consider as an uncle.

"Heads up, here they come!" Sabine yelled, tracking them with her motion sensor. Sure enough, Ezra could make out four dots on in the sky, flying ever closer to them.

"Imperial Supercommandos..." Fenn spat. "We need to get to hiding, quickly!"

Ezra was in no mood to argue with that particular train of logic and soon found himself hiding in an alcove of some ruined barracks building with the others.

He knew that it wouldn't be long before they were found. This place had very few effective places to hide. Perhaps they could elongate it by hiding under the rubble, but he was doubtful that these Imperial Mandalorians were as stupid as the local garrison on Lothal. Besides, the Imperials had most of the advantages this time; they were outgunned, outmanned, and outmaneuvered. They needed to think of a plan, and fast, or else they were all looking at death or torture. He gripped the hilt of his lightsaber a little tighter.

Wait. That was it!

"Sabine, I've got a plan," he said hurriedly, shoving his lightsaber into her hand, cutting her off before she could so much as utter a word of protest. "I'm going to distract them, while you two get to the shuttle."

Sabine was adamant. "No, you dunderhead. We aren't leaving you behind!"

Ezra rolled his eyes. Of course, she wouldn't agree to it. "Bean, we have no time to argue. Those guys are probably on their way right now. You have to trust me on this."

Even though he couldn't see past her visor, he could practically feel the glare boring into his skull, and knew she was about to quip one of her sarcastic retorts right before she opened her mouth.

"Is this one of the times that I trust you and you amazingly pull us all through, or one of those times where I have to end up saving your ass? Because so far, you have a pretty half and half track record regarding the success of one of your harebrained schemes," she sardonically asked him, putting her hands on her hips for effect.

"Bean, please…" he begged, closing her hand around his saber, "If I don't do this, we're never making it off this rock."

Sabine hesitated for a moment, refusing to pull away from Ezra and his saber, before she finally relented and sighed, grabbing his lightsaber and clipping it on his belt.

"Alright, Bridger, but you owe me a solid if we make it out alive," she warned him.

"Deal," he replied, and with that, ran off to find the Imperial Mandos before they could find his friends.

He refused to think about the possibility of Robb being dead.

Soon enough, he had rounded the corner, and into his vision popped a Mandalorian commando.

Unlike the other Imperial Mandos, who were wearing stark white armor and helmets that edged closer to being Imperial than Mandalorian, the leader was dressed from head to toe in crimson and cream armor, the Imperial roundel on one shoulder, and the Saxon serpent on the other. Ezra took aim at the space just in front of this man, and fired, intentionally missing his target.

The Force urged him to run, as he felt the heat of a yellow blaster bolt zing right by his scarred cheek. Whoever these guys were, they were certainly no stormtrooper fresh from the academy. _So far so good,_ he thought, _now let's see if they continue taking the bait_.

Sure enough, they did, as three of them surrounded him almost instantly. He held his hands up in surrender, dropping his blaster in the process.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot! I surrender!" he shouted, making sure everyone could hear him.

"Cuff him!" the leader's gravelly voice barked from underneath his ugly red helmet, and one of the commandoes complied, producing a pair of handcuffs and binding Ezra's hands together behind his back.

"Take him to the mess hall, he can rejoin his friend there," he commanded, but before the commandoes could take him away, he decided to ask his captor something; he needed to know whom he was dealing with.

"I'm sorry, who are you, again?" he asked. Obliging the young Lothalian's request, the Mandalorian took off his helm, revealing a weathered, stone face, with eyes the shade of ash and silver hair, cut in a typical military high-and-tight.

"I am Gar Saxon, Imperial Viceroy of Mandalore, and Chieftain of Clan Saxon- and you, rebel, are my prisoner."

* * *

He was shoved roughly into the mess hall, the muzzle of the EE-4 digging sharply into his back. Out of the corner of his vision, he could spot Robb, beaten and bloodied, but unbroken and unbent.

He thanked the Force he wasn't dead.

"So, boy..." Gar spat out- as if the term 'boy' was an insult. "Where are the others? Where is your ship? How many of you are there?"

"Hey, guys," he broke into his trademark grin, attempting to fool these guys. Too bad he didn't have time to study his marks. "I'm just a scavenger here by myself. Name's Lando Calrissian."

"Hence why we caught this wolf on the cliffs," Saxon mocked. "Do you think I'm as daft as some neophyte stormtrooper, boy? I'm an Imperial supercommando, not some fop from Corulag!" He nodded to two of his men. "Search the camp for their friends! Rebels rarely travel alone."

"Rebels? We aren't rebels!" Ezra denied. "We're just two scavengers looking for treasure. Pirates told us about this place."

"Dev…" Robb sighed, using Ezra's preferred code name. "He isn't being fooled."

"How astute, Grey Wolf," Saxon snarled. "Yes, I know well who you are. And rest assured, I _will_ bring you to Coruscant in chains to be paraded before the Emperor, and after he takes your head, he will certainly reward me with a seat at the council."

Robb smirked. "If you say so…"

Gar ignored him and turned back to Ezra. "Regardless, every little lie you tell me contains a kernel of truth. So, I still get what I want. Now, you will tell me what I want to know, or I start blasting pieces off your friend here!" he snapped, ordering his men to aim their blasters at Robb.

"Ok, ok!" Ezra finally gave up some. "We were sent here by the Protector, Fenn Rau!"

Saxon's eyes gleamed at the name, and as he ordered his men to stand down, he turned his attention fully to Ezra, who began to fidget under his gaze.

 _Blast it, Sabine, where are you?_

"You know," he intoned, his voice taking on a softer, yet more maddening edge, "I have planned to wipe out these damned Protectors for quite some time. After we killed them all, I allowed your ships to pass through this system, knowing that eventually, Rau would eventually come here to seek revenge," he sighed. "I admit, Rau not being here was a disappointment, but it did make killing his men much easier than what I was expecting."

"Why?" Ezra asked, his anger getting to him. "Why do this at all?"

Gar laughed. "Because they stood in my way. All their pining for the throne, and for what? The title of Mand'alor is a relic! Only the Emperor matters, now, and I am his hand."

The traitor then suddenly grabbed Ezra by the collar with one hand- impressive, he mused, for a guy that advanced in years, and brought him so close to his face that Ezra could feel the hot breath and spit land on his cheek. He was definitely going to the 'fresher first after this.

"I'm going to ask you for the last time, boy," he seethed. "Where. Is. Rau?"

"I don't know," Ezra snapped back, "and even if I did, what makes you think I would tell you?"

"Enough of your lies, rebel!" Gar roared, slamming Ezra down on the floor. "For your insolence, your friend will pay the price. I was hoping to bring him to Coruscant alive, but I guess a corpse will have to do!"

 _No._

Ezra thought fast, just as Gar took aim at Robb with his rifle. Slowing his breathing, Ezra reached out with the Force and nudged the rifle to the right. The shot fired right next to Robb's head, and Ezra felt Gar's confusion and frustration. Again, Saxon took aim, and again, Ezra nudged the muzzle off course. By now, though, Saxon had finally realized what had been going on and turned around to face Ezra, the sights of his rifle fully trained on him.

"You…" he drew dangerously, "have just become a _much_ more valuable hostage, Jedi…"

Before Saxon could continue any further, a grenade was thrown into the mess hall, and exploded, producing a great deal of smoke and noise. The smoke quickly filled the room, blinding near just about everyone, but Ezra could feel a shining, familiar presence in the Force.

 _Sabine._

"What took you so long?" he coughed, running out of the hall with Sabine and Robb, who had somehow managed to recover his helmet and blaster rifle in the confusion.

"I was using strategy, it takes longer!" she complained, running full speed towards their ship. In the back, Chopper was frantically waving them on. Suddenly, however, the ramp lifted off the ground, and the ship took off.

 _Rau,_ Ezra gritted his teeth. Of course, the old codger would leave them high and dry like this- and take Chopper in the process. Come to think of it, though…maybe him taking Chop wasn't a bad thing…

"So, how's strategy working out for us, now?" he snarked back to Sabine, who sighed underneath her helmet.

"Not so great," she admitted.

He sensed them before he saw them, and activated his blade, now free of his binds and having received his weapon back from Bean.

"Sabine Wren," the Viceroy of Mandalore called out to his friend, as the four remaining commandos surrounded them. Everyone had their weapons leveled at one another, and the atmosphere felt tense. It was almost as if they were propped into a scene from an old holo.

"I don't know you," she seethed, but something told Ezra that she did indeed know him. Whether it was the Force or just intuition, he didn't know, but the way she tensed up near him was telling him this was the case.

"Oh, but I know you," the governor taunted her, "and all about how you've joined the Phoenix Squadron. I also know that your mother is looking for you!"

Ezra felt Sabine tense up behind him, and her voice had gone ice cold. "I don't believe you."

Gar snickered. "Sabine never told you about her family? Well, it appears she lies as well as you, _boy_. Her own mother stands with me and the Empire, now."

"I doubt you gave her much choice, _aruetii_." Sabine spat, causing the Mandalorians around her to click the safeties off their rifles.

Ezra was now thoroughly confused. What in the blue blaze was going on here?

"She came around herself after you _abandoned_ the Imperial Academy, oathbreaker. Your cowardice _shamed_ your clan's name and standing. Had you honored your word, you could be wearing _this_ armor," He bragged, pounding his stark white and crimson armor proudly.

Sabine sounded unimpressed. "Thanks, but I prefer a little more color to my armor."

"You think yourself a loyalist?" Saxon sneered at her. "The Empire will make _Manda'yim_ stronger than ever before!" He bleated proudly. Ezra rolled his eyes. He may not be stupid, but he sure as hell loved to monologue.

"The only ones who have gotten stronger under Palpatine are you and your fellow serpents, Saxon!" Sabine snapped, and Ezra felt the air around Gar go grim.

"Out of respect for your mother, I'll give you one final choice, oath-breaker," he warned. "Surrender to me, or you and your friends die."

Ezra was prepared. He held his lightsaber in front of him, ready to defend his friends from this rabble, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Robb was preparing to do the same. He could feel the sweat drip out of every pore- a combination of the heat of this accursed world and the fear men naturally felt when confronted with a mortal situation. His hands gripped the hilt tighter, the groves digging into the sensitive skin. Come death or victory, they weren't going to go without a fight.

"I surrender," Sabine's voice broke the rising tension like a sword cutting throw a rope stretched to its breaking point.

Ezra's mind ground to a screeching halt. _What in sweet kriffing hell is she thinking_?

"Sabine…" he tried to dissuade. "Don't."

"We have no choice, Ezra," she sighed in defeat, holstering her blasters…but not before nodding slightly in Robb's direction.

Frustrated, Ezra deactivated his saber and hooked it back to his belt, whilst Robb did the same with his rifle, though the way he did it had Ezra on edge.

It felt as if he was left out of some carefully laid plan, which, in all honesty, would not have been the first time.

Sabine took off her helmet and bent the knee before Gar Saxon, who must have been grinning like some damned lucky loth-cat, judging by the sudden smugness Ezra felt radiating from the man. The Imperial governor swaggered over to the young woman, his gait one of absolute confidence.

"Say the words," he commanded. "Swear to me your loyalty, from this day until your last day!"

"I swear…" Sabine began, then her eyes shot up in steeled defiance. "…that you're a FOOL! Robb, now!"

When she yelled that, Robb keyed something into his compad, and Saxon and his men feel screaming onto the ground, writhing in pain and clutching their heads, as if something had assaulted their ears with the force of a turbolaser.

Not wasting a moment, Robb drew his holdout blaster- which had been unseen by the Imperials, or anyone else for that matter- and set about his deadly work immediately, blasting each of Saxon's men in the head. Their armor, being made of cheap plastoid and not proper _beskar_ , did almost nothing to protect them from the deadly bolts, and soon three men lay dead on the ground.

Saxon lay on the ground, trying to reach for his rifle, only to have it kicked away by the Grey Wolf, who must have been glaring at him with those eyes like winter.

"Now it's your turn, viper," Robb began, leveling his rifle at him. "Let us go, and you shall keep your life, for now. Refuse, and I put a round through your head like your other wannabe warriors there," he motioned to the dead Mandalorians. "Make your choice."

Gar snarled at him. "You denied them a warrior's death."

"As you denied the Protectors," Robb pointed out in a voice void of emotion. "It was only fair your men received the same treatment. Last warning; let us leave or die."

It was just then, they heard the telltale sign of engines whining behind them, but it wasn't the _Phantom II._

"Oh, for the love of Lothal!" Ezra cursed as the saw the Imperial _Kom'rk_ coming into view, making a beeline straight at them. "Out of the frying pan…"

"…and right into the fire," Sabine agreed grimly. Ezra knew that she could use her jetpack, get away from the rapidly approaching ship. But for how long, he wondered? Would she be able to outrun the vessel? And then there was the problem of her most likely refusing to leave him or Robb behind.

So that was it, then, he realized solemnly as Gar laughed and babbled something about how foolish they were. He tuned out the monologue, and focused on the ship speeding its way towards them, ordinance ready to be delivered on target.

And somehow, his hand wormed its way into Sabine's.

To his surprise, Sabine didn't reject his hand, nor did she yell at him for 'flirting'. If anything, she simply squeezed it tighter, as if telling him everything would be alright.

 _ **Be not afraid, young Ezra Bridger,**_ Ezra heard a mysterious voice resonating in his head. It sounded like the Bendu, but…younger and less grand. _**For this is not the end. Not yet.**_

As if the voice had predicted their salvation, a steady stream of ruby red laser fire hit the _Komr'k_ on the starboard side, punching through the armor and disabling the engine, sending the craft reeling in a death spiral as the pilots lost control of the ship. Off to the right, they saw the cavalry.

The _Phantom_ had come back, and Rau with it.

"Gar Saxon!" The Protector shouted through the ship's speakers. "These soldiers are under _my_ Protection."

"RAU!" Gar roared, and rose to his feet to ineffectually fire at the vessel, which Ezra and everyone else made a beeline towards, as Rau turned the ship around and lowered the ramp for a quick exfil

Robb jumped on first, clearing the gap without any problems. Then, Ezra made the jump as Robb covered him, the Grey Wolf firing on the Hand of the Emperor with steady precision, though his aim wasn't to kill, merely to suppress. The Jedi Padawan landed with the grace of a loth-cat onto the ramp, and Robb helped him into the ship. Finally, Sabine made the jump, using her jetpack as an extra boost to clear the widening gap, as Rau speed away from the enraged Saxon. She almost made it.

Almost.

A luck shot from Saxon's rifle hit her jetpack right in the center, causing her to lose her momentum and almost tumble out of the craft.

"Bean, no!" Ezra yelled and reached out with the Force to grab her.

He caught her just in time.

He pulled her back onto the craft and helped her to her feet. Still a bit shaky from the experience, she leaned on him for support, and as the ramp closed, they could only look at the increasingly shrinking form of Gar Saxon, still fuming.

"He shot my jetpack," Sabine sullenly grumbled, shocking Ezra out of his stupor as the ship pulled out of the atmosphere and into the inky black of space.

All at once, though, Robb started to laugh. It started out low, at first, then rose to become full and hearty. Then, Sabine started to chuckle, then Rau, and finally himself. Pretty soon, the entire cabin was roaring with laughter, chortling at the absurdity of that contradiction called war, which was beauty and horror mixed with boredom and terror.

After the laughter had died down, Sabine took off her helmet and faced Rau, sliding in the co-pilot's seat next to him.

"I thought you were leaving us behind," she told him, crossing her arms in a defiant pose.

"Well, I did consider it," he admitted freely, "but then I saw how dedicated you are to your people. How you were willing to die for them, even if they aren't Mandalorian," he smirked. "Besides, your droid threatened to slit my throat if we didn't turn around."

Ezra smirked as Chopper did his imitation of a proud 'harumph'. Maybe that droid does care for them, after all. Or maybe he'd run out of people to make miserable. Either way, the thought was very touching.

Fenn's voice grew softer. "You haven't forgotten our ways or your honor. That has earned my respect, and my loyalty," he informed, and for the first time, Ezra saw the man truly smile. Still, though…

"Don't take this the wrong way, guys," he said, interrupting the conversation, "but Mandalorians are crazy."

Fenn chuckled. "Crazy enough to join you, after all."

Sabine turned her head, equal parts surprised and relieved. "You really mean that?"

Fenn nodded. "If you will have me, that is."

It was Ezra's turn to smile. "I'd rather have you with us than against us," he admitted honestly, and he felt his heart pace quicken somewhat when Sabine turned to smile at him. In all honesty, he could lose himself in that smile and not care to come back, and he had a sneaking suspension, no matter how small, that Sabine possibly felt the same way.

Robb broke them out of their trance. "Welcome to the pack, Fenn Rau."

And with that, Rau pushed the lever forward, and the ship was vaulted forward into hyperspace.

They were going home.

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter successfully completed.**

 **Alright, I normally don't do this, but I have very mixed feelings about the trailer for Season 4. On the one hand, we are getting the conclusion to the Mando War and Bo-Katan becoming Mand'alor. On the other…. they may end up killing off all the characters sans Hera, Rex, and Chopper in a GRRM worthy gore-fest, and that angers me beyond belief, especially with the knowledge that this is the final season, with purportedly only 15 episodes left (that makes me think they are rushing the story, but that's another topic).**

 **One of the reasons why I don't like the 'All non-OT characters must die" ending is that; 1). It treats the galaxy as a very small place, where every major character will run into one another at some point. 2). It removes the flaws both Yoda and Palpatine have in their perceptions of the Force and makes them seem all-knowing when it was shown previously that clearly isn't the case. At all. And 3.) It's a cheap cop-out to preserve Luke's status as "The Last Jedi" when even in the EU, that was far from the case.**

 **Anyway, I've gotten a new beta now in MandoCommander. Here's the start of a long and successful partnership.**

 **Now, the reason why Robb was captured initially is that even the best soldiers can be surprised. And if you are wondering how Sabine was communicating with Robb? Well, let's just say that enclosed communication is a sci-fi wonder.**

 **Until next time!**


	16. Vendric I

The headaches came more and more frequently.

It wasn't that Vendric was particularly prone to migraines, or at least, no more so than any other Mandalorian. As a matter of fact, he considered himself a pretty healthy man, despite his relatively advanced age of forty-five. No, the reason why his head was hurting with increasing frequency was due to one particularly daft meathead.

His elder brother, Gar Saxon, Viceroy of Mandalore, Hand of the Emperor, and a hundred other titles Vendric didn't particularly care to list off, let alone think about.

The most recent headache he had experienced was due to this brother delivering the 'glorious' news that he had wiped out the Journeyman Protectors, and it was only made worse by his constant boasting about it as if he truly had anything to be proud of.

"You are a fool," he finally said, growing utterly tired of watching Gar pace around the bridge of the _Kandosii II_ -class cruiser, _Serpent's Wrath_ , as they made their way across hyperspace towards their destination; a volcanic planet in the Outer Rim from which very few knew about. And those who did…well, they were too frightened to speak of it, anyway. For on that planet resided a demon in the Emperor's employ, or so they say.

And now they were being summoned to meet with the demon.

Gar finally turned around, apparently deigning to finally address this question, as if he were barely worthy of his time.

"A fool? How so?" he asked, his voice still carrying an air of haughtiness.

Vendric intended to break that.

"You wiped out the Protectors," he began his lecture, "without any provocation or proof of their misdeeds. The Protectors, may I remind you, have guarded the throne of Mandalore for over two hundred generations and kept its peace, and you decided to eliminate them on a rumor."

Gar sneered. "It was no rumor, brother! The Protectors had been letting Rebels pass through our space through months, now! I did what had to be done in the name of our clan!"

"By wiping them out?" Vendric quirked an eyebrow. "Had you publicly discredited Rau in the eyes of our people, called into question his judgment, then we could have had him arrested on grounds of high treason, and installed a new leader for the Protectors, one more loyal to our interests. We would have solidified the support of one of the most influential factions in all Mandalorian Space. Instead, you went off half-cocked and razed their base to the ground," he kept his voice quiet, as always. He would not stoop to yelling, as Gar did. "You might have just succeeded in uniting every clan in the hegemony against us."

"We don't need the all the clans, Vendric," Gar boasted, completely missing the point. "We have the Empire and their resources backing us up. Besides, the Kasts are sure to support us."

Vendric sighed. "You are an even bigger fool than I thought if you think Palpatine will help us in any meaningful way. Maybe send a fleet, yes, but any more than that he will simply write us off as a lost cause. And the Kasts alone, though they are a sizable force, do not make up for the difference in numbers against the other clans; a lesson I expected you had learned, serving under Pre Vizsla," he corrected, striding closer to his brother, and fixed him with a glare with his silver eyes. "Father placed far too much trust in you." He whispered to Gar, who's coal grey eyes shot up in rage.

"You forget… _brother…_ who is Chieftan of our clan, who is Count of Adderia, and who is Viceroy of _Manda'yim_! Do not forget your place as my second-in-command!"

"I would never forget, _Aliit'alor_ ," Vendric informed him nonchalantly. "Regardless, we must be more careful in the future regarding our plans. If we cannot hold Mandalore for the Empire, the Emperor _will_ have us deposed and replaced. And that is something we cannot afford." He warned, then turned his back on his brother, heading straight for his quarters on the vessel.

He still needed to get rid of that damned headache.

* * *

It was only a standard hour later when they had reached their destination. To casual eyes, the planet Mustafar would appear uninhabitable. Dark clouds of thick ash and gas covered the surface almost entirely, encapsulating the world in darkness save for a few rays of sunlight. The thousands of active, roaring volcanoes constantly erupting on the surface of the planet provided the planet's only other source of light. Great rivers of molten lava flowed like water, and native life here was almost non-existent, save for two sentient races of lava miners.

 _If there were ever an actual hell, Mustafar would certainly fit the bill_ , Vendric mused as he and his brother made use of a provided _Lambda_ -class shuttle- a courier sent for them by the lord of this world- to sojourn to the planet's surface. He mutely wondered what this _darjetii_ wanted with them. Surely it wasn't a friendly chat, he thought. No, the reason must have had something to do with the Protectors. Vendric had to suppress a grimace. Of course, he would have heard about Gar's spectacular kark-up. Nothing escaped the notice of this demon for too long. He had eyes and ears all over the Empire, of course, all to make sure that the Emperor's vassals were doing his bidding.

Vendric was impressed. It showed cunning and political foresight, something Gar so clearly needed. True, he had taken Alrich Wren hostage and reduced Ursa's standing in the eyes of the other clans, due to her daughter's disloyalty, but Gar only did that because he had told him that wiping out the Wrens would trigger a rebellion against them, and it would give one of the other clans a legitimate excuse to try to claim the throne for themselves.

Fear keeps men alive in times of treachery, he had always said to his comrades and subordinates. Everywhere you went, you could not be sure whether the person you were meeting would be an ally or an enemy. Even here, on this hellhole of a planet, the vultures circled.

As they punched through the planet's atmosphere, Vendric could make out in the distance their destination- one lone, black tower that seemed to dwarf all the refineries and mining plants around it. As they got closer, Vendric could feel a slight tingle of existential dread settling in his stomach. It looked like it had not been designed by mortal hands, but rather that of the unholy and malevolent demons that were said to abide here. But everyone who had heard of this place knew that it was not the castle, no matter how evil looking, was to fear here, but the monster that resided within.

A monster whose soul was so black it was said to darken the room around it in shadow.

Vendric scoffed. The being who resided in here was a man. Granted, a powerful and dangerous wizard, but a man nonetheless. Nothing more, and nothing less. That being said, though, one had to take caution dealing with a being that could snap your neck with a single thought.

Vendric prayed to the _manda_ that Gar at least had that much sense, to not go angering this 'Dark Lord'.

After a few, antagonizing moments, the ship landed on the black landing pad. The ramp lowered, and the two Mandalorians journeyed into the devil's tower, flanked by two stern-looking Noghri guards, covered in red plastoid armor and wielding force-pikes and energized shields. Before them, at the cavernous entrance to the demonic castle, stood a figure cloaked in purple and black robes, seemingly unaffected by the blistering heat and ash.

"Greetings, Viceroy Gar Saxon and Lieutenant Governor Vendric Saxon," he soothed in an irritating voice. "I am Vaneé, caretaker of this keep. I am here to escort you to the waiting chamber. This way, please. And, please do be careful, sirs. This castle can be a treacherous place for the…unwary."

With that, Vaneé turned around and beckoned them in, and they followed, still flanked by the two nameless Noghri.

The interior of the castle made him feel more uneasy, though he wouldn't show it to anyone around him, especially not to Gar. The inside of the castle was, for the lack of a better word, _hollow_. It was as if the designer of the castle built it to reflect its owner; a cold, empty shell surrounding nothing but the black void. Walking through those cavernous halls to the main waiting chamber, Vendric started to worry some. Although he wouldn't admit it, he still cared for his older brother in some fashion. If what he had heard about this _darjetii_ was true, then Gar was going to have to find a way to avoid irking him, as it was well known among the highest circles that this being had a rather short temper when it came to failure.

"This is where I leave you," Vaneé informed them as soon as they reached the main waiting chamber, which was gigantic and empty, all the heat replaced by cold, frigid air being blasted from industrial grade fans above. "Be warned, my master will not be in a pleasant mood. I'd advise you chose your words carefully with him, Governor, or you may find yourself regretting it dearly."

With that, the butler strode away quickly out a side entrance on the far side of the chamber, leaving just the two Mandalorians alone for the time being.

They did not have to wait long.

A mechanical groaning sound marked the giant blast door before them opening, eerie white light pouring through the opening maw of the mechanical beast, and out of this light strode a shadow, clad head to toe in menacing black armor. From his shoulders hung a great, black cape, and his helmet reminded Vendric of the skull of some dead predator. What was most eerie, however, was the breathing that emanated from him. It sounded mechanical, labored, and deathly, like a deep-sea diver taken out of the water.

This was the Lord of Mustafar, the Emperor's Executor, and the Dark Lord of the Sith.

This was the monster known as Darth Vader.

Lord Vader strode purposefully towards them, a black shadow gliding on the polished steel floor of the waiting chamber. When he came to his brother and he, the Dark Lord growled.

"Governor Saxon," he boomed, his deep, baritone voice echoing around the chamber. To say that Vendric himself wasn't afraid of Vader would have been further from the truth. However, he noticed that he was handling himself far better than his brother right now, who had now lost all his earlier bravado and arrogance, instead now looking like he was on the verge of wetting himself.

"Lord Vader," Gar greeted back, his voice shaky and uncertain, and Vendric was sure he heard an audible gulp. The Dark Lord took no notice of this, as he chose to pace around them instead, like a tiger getting ready to strike.

"You seem…unsettled…" Vader mocked, turning his full attention to Gar once again.

Gar shook his head with a gusto. "N-no, my lord. Everything's going well in our sector. We had a…minor rebellion, but rest assured, my lord, I had it taken care of."

"Oh, did you?" Vader rebuked. "Do _not_ take me for a fool, Governor. You wiped out one of the most ancient orders of your people. An order, might I add, your people loved. What is worse, you have driven an otherwise staunch ally of ours into the hands of the Rebellion, and now I hear rumors of dissent against your rule. On top of this, you managed to fail to capture or kill the traitor known as Fenn Rau," The Dark Lord spoke as he got closer to Gar, whom by now was sweating sheets. "Ever since we granted you rule over Mandalore, your government has been beset by crisis after crisis. First, with the defections from the Academy. Then, by the insurgency of the splinter cell that your kind calls the Nite Owls. And now I find that you have wiped out the one group that could have guaranteed your solidified rule?" He rebuked as he turned around to face the window. "I don't think that I need to inform you that the Emperor is most displeased by your apparent lack of intelligence. Perhaps it is time we find a new governor for your people? One who will not threaten the interests of the Empire by their own ineptitude."

"My lord, please…" Gar begged. "Just give me another chance. I'll-" Gar was cut off all the sudden, and he started to claw at his throat, throwing himself to the ground in an effort to break the invisible talons which were strangling him.

For the first time in his life, Vendric could say he was genuinely horrified. He had seen the effects of the Force firsthand when he had served in Death Watch, to be sure, but it was far different seeing it performed on the battlefield against one's foe, then in a meeting on one's brother.

"Fortunately for you, Governor," Vader rumbled, "the Emperor still has his use for you," the Dark Lord said and relinquished his grip on Gar's throat with the Force, and the elder Saxon gulped in precious, stale air. He attempted to stand on his feet, only to find Vader staring down at him.

"This is your last warning, Saxon. Do not fail us again, or your next trip here _will_ be your last," he warned, as he let his brother stand on his own feet, then waved him off.

"Only the elder Saxon shall be escorted back to the ship," he commanded, just before Vendric turned to join his brother outside. Curious, he stood back, allowing Gar to go on without him, before turning to face the Dark Lord. Vader's heavy, mechanical breathing echoed throughout the chamber, the only sound in the room for what seemed like minutes before he deigned to speak to him.

"You fear me, yet you do not let that fear control you like it does your brother," Vader mused aloud to him. "Impressive, I must say. Most impressive..." he trailed off before turning back to him, "Do you know why I have ordered you to stay for a little while longer?"

Vendric shook his head. "I confess I do not my lord."

Vader took a moment, then leaned in closer, obviously trying to intimidate him with his greater height. "What do you know about the weapon known as the Darksaber?"

Vendric kept his face a stoic mask, as ever, but internally he was surprised. Why would Vader go mentioning _that_ weapon? No one in Mandalorian Space had seen it ever since Maul had vanished at the end of the Clone Wars. If the Dark Lord was inquiring about it…

"It is, or was, the ancestral blade of House Vizsla, my lord," he answered. "It was designed and crafted by the Mandalorian Jedi Tar Vizsla, according to legend, and then taken back from their temple by Shae Vizsla, who became known as Mand'alor the Avenger, during the Sack of Coruscant three and a half thousand years ago. It was then kept in the family for generations until Maul claimed it. Truthfully, my lord, I know little of what happened to it after the Siege," he confessed. "If I may be so bold, my lord, why do you wish to know?"

Darth Vader wasted no time in replying, and what he said next honestly shocked Vendric. "Maul is dead, and the Darksaber is missing."

The younger Saxon brother quirked an eyebrow, hiding his surprise. "Indeed, my lord? How?"

Vader waved him off. "The 'how' is unimportant. What is important is that the weapon itself is missing, as our spies have discovered on Dathomir, reclaimed by someone unknown to us. Whether they be friend or foe, we do not know, yet, but if they should be a foe- if that sword ends up in the hands of the one they call Bo-Katan…"

"She could rally the entirety of the clans behind her..." Vendric finished grimly. That sword wasn't just a blade- it was a symbol. A symbol of a time when Mandalore had stood strong and united against all its enemies when they were proud and unyielding. Many would tear each other apart over such a symbol, and many would die over it.

A blade like that in the hands of his brother…it would potentially solidify their rule over the other clans. Still, he had to know…

"Why tell me this, though, my lord? Why not tell my brother? After all, he is the Viceroy of our world," he asked.

"Because your brother is a fool and an incompetent, not to mention arrogant and overreaching. I gave him another chance because the Emperor demanded that he remain Viceroy, but you and I both know that he will fail, again, and whether by the enemy's hands or mine, that failure will cost him his life," Vader explained to him.

Vendric could only nod in agreement. His brother had ignored his advice at almost every turn, thus far, and he could stand to be a trifle less arrogant.

"You, on the other hand, are the opposite," Vader continued, his voice booming. "I sense a certain cold pragmatism about you. An intelligence that could prove useful to the Empire, and to your people. Should your brother die, you will be named Viceroy in his place, am I not correct?"

"You are indeed correct, my lord," Vendric answered. It was clear where this conversation was leading…

…and the wheels began to turn in his head. For too long, he had lived in the shadow of that overbearing oaf, watching him piss away his family's power and standing, all to sate his ridiculous bloodlust. Granted, Vendric was no saint, either. He did enjoy a little torture from time to time- especially regarding Alrich Wren. He wasn't stupid, though. If word ever got out about his…activities…well, it wouldn't look good, would it? A peaceful land, and a quiet people. That was always what their father had taught them, and he had taken that rule to heart when he ruled Adderia in his brother's name. His brother, though, had taken that advice and shat on it, as always.

Vendric's lips curled upwards in a slight, grim smile. Oh yes, he would still point out his brother's errors, try to teach him reason, though it is futile, but now he would no longer actively try to save him, or run interference for him. The time had come for a new Count of Adderia and Viceroy of Mandalore, and if that meant the eldest had to die so the clan could live on, then Vendric would make that sacrifice.

The Dark Lord nodded at Vendric and turned back to walk into the light, a clear sign that he was dismissed from Vader's presence.

As he walked back to the ship, Vendric could not help but sneer, a break in his usually calm and collected façade. Gar would wonder why Vader had to speak with him, of course, and he would tell him what he would want to hear, but one thing was now abundantly clear;

Gar would screw up.

Gar would die.

And it would be Vendric Saxon who would be ruler of Mandalore and head of their household, which would stand for a thousand years more under his leadership.

He would make sure of it.

* * *

 **A/N: Ok, this was kind of a short, filler-y chapter, but an absolutely important one. It will be integral to the Mando Civil War arc I will be doing later on. Now, my OC, Vendric, is based on Roose Bolton from Game of Thrones. I admittedly always found Roose an interesting villain; sadistic, creepy, and yet intelligent and cunning. Kind of like a Scottish vampire.**

 **Now, as to why and how Vader found out that Maul is dead and his favorite Mando toy missing? Well, Vader is one of the greatest Dark Lords of the Sith to have ever existed, after all, so he would have been able to sense Maul's death in the Force, and an Inquisitor or ISB agent who was sent to investigate would have noted that Maul's corpse no longer had the Darksaber.**

 **And we see here that not everything revolves around Robb and his Starkness.**

 **Until next we meet.**


	17. Robb IV

_Robb found himself walking through untraveled halls, but not unfamiliar ones._

 _He had heard of the stories of the grandeur of the Red Keep, how its granite shone crimson in a certain light, and how the marble floors were as smooth as milkglass, but none of that compared to what lay before him._

 _At the end of the great hall that he strode in, upon a dais of black stone it sat, the light from the mosaic windows of the Seven washing the dark, sharp monstrosity in color._

 _The Iron Throne of Westeros._

 _It was said that the throne was forged by the breath of the great dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, comprising of a thousand swords which once belonged to the lords and kings who opposed Aegon the Conqueror. As he walked closer to the throne, he could not help but muse on his distant ancestor, Torrhen Stark, known as the King Who Knelt. He often wondered what went through Torrhen's mind, as he and his army of thirty thousand Northmen gazed upon Aegon's larger host of sixty thousand southerners and three large, nigh-invincible dragons. Certainly, he must have known that any attempt at resistance would have seen his army slaughtered and Winterfell burned._

 _Robb paused just before reaching the throne. So, that is why he surrendered. Torrhen did not give in to Aegon's demands to save his own skin; he did it to save his people and his family, and many of his kinsmen in Robb's day sneered at Torrhen, himself included._

" _Hah, I knew it, Stark!" a sniveling, high-pitched voice called from behind him. Robb knew that voice, and in an instant turned around and faced his foe, his sword in hand. There before him was the usurper, the ill-born, the murderer of his father, Joffrey 'Baratheon', the so-called King of Westeros. "You Starks all speak of your honor and your piety, and yet just like your traitor father, you covet the throne for yourself and your family…" the boy king mocked. "Honestly, Stark, you barbarians should have just taken the damned thing when you had the chance. Admit it, Stark, the idea of power intoxicates you. It is the sweetest wine, after all."_

" _I want nothing to do with the Iron Throne, usurper!" Robb spat. "And I care nothing for the South!"_

" _That is apparent," another specter appeared, this one being none other than Tywin Lannister himself. "Had you taken the throne from us and held it, you could have forged a peace that would have lasted for a hundred years. You could have made the North the wealthiest and most powerful region in Westeros. You could have made the Seven Kingdoms great again. Instead, your selfishness nearly destroyed our country, ravaged by the raids and the invasions of barbarians from the east and the monstrosities from the Far North. Your petty need for revenge at all costs has graver consequences than you realize."_

" _Well, I can't say my father's wrong," Jaime appeared, smirking insufferably. "You claim to be different from us, but you've never really cared about independence. All you cared about was offing all of us due to daddy getting his head stuck on a pike."_

" _Stop…" Robb spat. "I am NOTHING like you."_

" _Yes, you are, boy!" Walder Frey yelled from somewhere in the back. "You are a hypocrite and a liar! You promised me my daughter's hand in marriage! You promised me a place by your side in your council! And what did you do? You pissed on your oath and on me for some Essosi cunny! What was I supposed to do? Let you shit all over my name like a damned cur? May you be damned to the Seven Hells for all eternity for your lies!"_

" _It would not have been the first time he's done that," another voice called out, this one hurt and full of sadness. Robb locked eyes with the newcomer._

Theon.

" _Face it, Robb, you've always talked a good game. But you were always too self-absorbed, too proud, to notice anyone else's problems. To notice my problems…" he pointed an accusing finger at him. "Oh, sure, if Jon or Sansa had a problem, you'd be the big hero! But for me? Every time I tried to talk to you about something personal or tried to offer you advice, all you did was remind me of my place. That I was a fucking hostage to the 'great' lord Eddard Stark!"_

 _Robb shook his head. "No…" He gripped his sides and fell to one knee. "It isn't true."_

" _But it is, isn't it?" a soft, quiet, yet cold voice called to him, and before Robb stood Roose Bolton. "Ah, yes, there it is. You want to kill me for driving a dagger through your heart. You want to make me suffer. To make men fear you," Roose regarded him without expression. "The others speak the truth. You are just as evil and malcontent as any of us. You don't slaughter entire patrols of soldiers because it brings aid to the smallfolk. You don't do it for justice. You do it because it's_ fun _. Because in truth, at their core, beheading and flaying are the same. It makes men fear us."_

 _Robb saw too late the daggers, and soon his enemies pounced on him, driving their blades deeper and deeper into his hardened flesh, but as he was being stabbed, their images began to shimmer and distort. Soon, he found himself looking not at his enemies, as he was unable to move. No, what he was looking at now was far more horrifying._

 _His killers were now wearing the faces of his new family._

* * *

Robb awoke with a start in a cold sweat, sucking down cool breathes of air. He took yet another moment to get his bearings. He was still in his room in the _Ghost_. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at his wrist chronometer.

05:25, it read.

He threw off his covers and ran his hands through his beard, sighing deeply as he did so. Great, another damned nightmare. Ever since his talk with Rau a couple weeks ago, the nightmares had returned, though this time they never centered on the death of his family.

Rather, they were centering around his moral failings as a man.

Pushing asides such thoughts, he was suddenly startled by the onset of lustful moans and grunts coming from the next cabin over, where Kanan and Hera kept their bunks.

 _Oh, sweet merciful Old Gods_ , he thought with a groan as he got up and threw on a tan t-shirt and some running shorts, trying to ignore the sounds of the two making love. _That wasn't a particular sound I really wanted to wake up to in the morning._ He quickly tied his running shoes on and got out of his room with a haste, eager to leave Hera and Kanan to their…activities.

Outside the Ghost, and Chopper Base, the air was crisp and chilly, making it perfect weather to do some physical training in, before the sun fully came up and started scorching everything in blistering temperatures.

Robb started his morning exercise as he always did, by stretching out all his major muscle groups. After a good five minutes of doing this, he decided to take a good, ten lap run outside the base perimeter, using the tonal resonators as post markers. As he began to run, his mind naturally drifted to the nightmare from the night before.

Was it just a dream? It felt like it, as he felt no pain from being stabbed, but what if it was something more? What if Bran or someone else was trying to warn him of something? He frowned as he made his third lap, already getting a thin sheen of sweat. If it was warning him about something, could he try to prevent it?

Should he?

He had read countless stories, though, where that never ended well; attempting to mess with prophecies and omens almost always resulted in them being fulfilled. On the other hand, those who usually tried to implement them often misread them, often causing more harm than good in the end.

He remembered something that his uncle Benjen said to him and Jon many years ago when they were both still young pups. "Prophecy is a half-trained mule, boys," he had warned them, "for the moment you think you've figured it out and it might be useful, it ends up kicking you in the teeth."

He shook those thoughts out of his head and noticed two figures coming out of the base to join him on his run as he was finishing up. _Ezra and Sabine_ , he realized with a smirk. _Of course. Those two like to treat everything as a personal competition._ When the two got closer, he stopped, not quite believing his eyes as his jaw dropped.

Ezra's hair was dyed a brilliant shade of green.

"Oi, look," one sergeant was yelling. "Lieutenant Bridger's become a cucumber!" he teased, leading to the rancorous laughter of his men. "Hey, sir! Did ya take a dip in the cabbage patch?"

Ezra looked flustered, his face a bright shade of red from embarrassment, making him look like a strawberry. Sabine, on the other hand, was trying not to snicker.

When they caught up with him, Robb had to chuckle. "I see Sabine managed to pay you back quite handsomely, Bridger. Green suits you better than black."

Ezra mumbled something out, probably meant to be a 'fuck you all', in Robb's eyes. The former king simply shrugged. "Well, I appreciate you two coming out to join me, but I was just getting finished up. I'll catch up to you two, later."

Sabine nodded. "Alright. We'll begin your lessons in Mando'a about an hour from now. In the meantime, we're just going to finish up our run, and then wash out the dye. Maybe."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "Oh, hardy har har, Bean. As soon as we get back, I'm heading to the 'fresher and washing this out," he said and turned his head to look at Robb. "Catch you later, Stark."

Robb did a mock salute. "You too, Bridger."

With that, the two young adults ran off, trying to see who could beat one another in a marathon. He laughed a little, then turned back to head to the base, intent on grabbing some chow before getting dressed for the duty day.

* * *

" _Al…aliit?"_ Robb was struggling to say, as Sabine was teaching him Mando'a in the base's common room. So far, he was making significant progress on the basics of Mando'a, though the gender-neutrality of the words of the language confused him, at first. It was putting it all together that was tripping him up, now.

 _Aliit_. It was the Mandalorian word for 'clan' and 'family', and was perhaps one of their most important words asides from _manda_ , 'soul', and _ijaat,_ 'honor'. The ancient people of that section of space took the values of family, duty, and honor very seriously, reminding him strongly of the values held dearly by his own people. He often wondered if there were Northmen who settled that area of the galaxy, and the conflation of outside forces eventually gave rise to the _Mando'ade._

"Good!" Sabine encouraged. "Keep this up and you'll be speaking the language like a native in no time."

"I certainly hope so," he amused. "So, I take it Ezra managed to wash most of that dye out?"

Sabine snickered. "Yeah, although his hair will still shine green instead of blue for a while. Serves him right for hatching that harebrained scheme," she smirked, but her face softened. "Then again, if it weren't for his quick thinking, we wouldn't be standing here."

Robb felt his face contorting, as well, as he again pondered, deep in thought. Ever since he got here eight months ago, he had noticed something going on between the two youngest members of the crew. Every now and then, he'd catch one of them letting their sight linger a little too long at the other's retreating form. Or, he'd catch Sabine staring intently at Ezra whenever he was sparing with Kanan or himself, often while the young man was shirtless. Vice-versa with Ezra watching Sabine spar with Rex or, more recently, Rau.

And then there was the incident last week with them holding hands in the face of what seemed to be their certain death.

So far, though, no one had brought it up. Perhaps it wasn't as noticeable as the relationship between Kanan and Hera was. Then again, since when were kids as young as those two supposed to know _how_ to express their feelings? For Sabine, he suspected it was a matter of stubborn pride, and for Ezra, he thought it a matter of social awkwardness.

Still, though, the matter had to be addressed. Robb knew all too well that it did a person no good to keep something bottled up inside oneself, especially strong emotion or attachment. It either boiled over until something explosive happened, or it ate away at you until you became nothing but a shell. So, he steeled his nerves and asked her, truthfully.

"Is there something going on between you and Ezra?"

The question must have hit her like a grain flail to the temple, for her eyes went wide and her head tilted back a few inches, indicating confusion and surprise before her amber orbs narrowed and she put her hands on her hips.

"I think you've got your signals crossed, buster," she warned him. "First, Ezra is my friend. My best friend, even my brother. That does not mean there's anything romantic between us."

"Uh-huh," Robb replied nonchalantly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her faux anger. "I may be older than you, but I'm not blind, deaf, or dumb, and I'm certainly no fool when it comes to romance. I can see the signs with you two as clear as day."

She snorted. "All right, give me one."

"I'll give you several," he offered instead, clasping his hands in front of him. "Every time myself and he spar in the gym or in the ship's cargo hold, I catch you staring at him, _especially_ when he's shirtless," he held up one finger. "Every time you two hold a conversation, you tend to gaze deep into each other's eyes and drift off. And when said conversation ends, your gaze lingers after him," he held up yet another finger. "Then, we can't forget that episode of two weeks ago, when he took your hand into his own, and you didn't even reject him," he held up a third finger. "That's three, and that's just off the top of my head. I'd probably think of more, given time and a list to write them down on."

She suddenly stood up, her face beet red and fuming. Robb steeled himself for the inevitable tirade. If she was anything like Arya, he was about to get an earful about how he was wrong.

Sure enough…

"Well, you figured it out!" she ranted, crossing her arms. "The high and mighty Lord of Winterfell just _couldn't_ go leaving it alone, could he? No, he had to go snooping into our personal lives! Well, what if I don't want a relationship with Ezra? What if I'm just happy being friends with him? What if I'm just content doing my part for the Rebellion and staying away from anything relating to a family?"

Robb looked at her earnestly. "Are you?"

She snarled. "Yeah! I am! **Because it would mean that I wouldn't be betrayed yet again!** " she yelled, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were turning white.

There it was, the crux of the matter. She was putting up a strong, independent front, only to mask the pain and rage. But directed at whom? Or what?

Robb shook his head. "Sabine…" he began, "I know what it's like to be turned on by those closest to you, so do Hera and Kanan. I think Ezra has an inkling of it, as well. My own mother went against me, as did the man I once called brother." He looked up at her, as she by now was calming down somewhat, instead opting to cross her arms.

"You don't know what it's like for me…" she whispered. "No one really does."

"I don't claim to," he admitted, then sighed. "Sabine, I won't tell you how to live your life. But know that it's fleeting, and a warrior should die with no regrets on her soul, lest she is forsaken from the halls of her ancestors and gods. The gods have fashioned us for love, after all," he offered her a smile, but he knew better than anyone what a two-bladed sword that fashioning was.

Love was the death of honor and the bane of duty. What was honor compared to a spouse's love? What was duty compared to the feeling of a newborn child in your arms? Or the memory of a sibling's smile? Nothing but words and wind. The gods have indeed fashioned them for love, and it was their great glory...and their great tragedy.

And ultimately, everyone had to make that choice between love and duty and face the consequences of that decision.

Sabine nodded slowly, apparently still processing her thoughts. "I'll…uh…think about it. I think…I think we're done for today."

Robb sighed. "Right. Go on ahead, Sabine. I'll wait back here."

Sabine got up and walked back to her cabin, while Robb sat at the table, his thoughts churning on the recent conversation and the events that had led up to it.

Ever since their return from Dathomir, Sabine had been acting rather odd. The normally feisty, witty, and brave Mandalorian warrior had become…well, like himself, from before. Withdrawn, aloof, and quiet. It had gotten worse after the events on Concord Dawn three weeks ago, and that incident with those fools in the Iron Squadron certainly wasn't helping matters.

Something was eating at her, that much was clear, but no one, not even Ezra or Hera, could determine what it was. Only Kanan seemed to know what was keeping her wound up, and even he was mum on the subject when pressed by Robb, preferring instead to avoid the topic entirely, saying that 'she'll explain when she's ready'. Robb was still deep in thought when he was interrupted by the last person he wanted to hear.

"Master Chief, sir?"

 _Mart Mattin_.

He gritted his teeth in silence. Of all the people who could bother him right now, it had to be this little arrogant shitstain. A person could say what they will about Ezra, but he was a person with a good heart and at least knew when to shut up. Mart, on the other hand, was an arrogant fool only concerned with glory, seemingly unconcerned with the lives of his crewmates or the entire Rebel fleet.

Or maybe it was just some misguided sense of vengeance for his dead father. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

"What do you want from me, Seaman Mattin?" he asked him, not turning his eyes off of the fool. He could see the fear in the boy's eye, and although he didn't relish it like he used to, he remembered all too well what had happened aboard the _Outrider_ , when Mart refused to evacuate anyone or himself in order to rush headlong into a suicide attack on a light cruiser, and by doing so endangered nearly the entirety of Phoenix Squadron.

He had nearly killed him for that; Sabine and Ezra had to pull him off Mart, preventing him from strangling Commander Sato's nephew in rage.

"Sir, I-" Mart began to say before Robb cut him off.

"First, Mattin, you will quit calling me 'sir' and address me as 'Chief.' It is my rank, and I work for a living. Secondly, if this is just you telling me you need to find a 'Pricky Nine', I'm going to make the deck glisten with your sweat, I don't care whose nephew you are. So, quit your damned stammering and tell me what you need to tell me."

"Yes…chief," he gulped. "I just wanted to inform you that Commander Sato wants you to report to the command center."

Robb quirked his eyebrow. "Did he give any specific reason why?"

Mart shook his head empathetically. "Not really, Chief. He didn't say. All that he told me that it was urgent and it involved a guy from your past."

That got his attention. "Guy from my past? That's damned wide, you know? Did your uncle mention who it was?"

Mart again shook his head. "He did not, Chief. He only said that it was the same guy responsible for getting us all those munitions a week ago and that you might not be happy to see him."

Robb snorted. There was a whole list of people that he would not be particularly pleased to see. But what the hell? He could spare to entertain this person for a few minutes. He waved Mart off. "Alright, Seaman. Tell your uncle I'll be there as quick as I can. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Chief!" Mart hurriedly stammered and ran off to go tell his uncle that Robb was coming.

Robb took a moment to stack the books, then walked out of the common room and into the hallway, looking out the window to the munitions depot.

Quite surprisingly, they had been receiving triple amounts of fuel, munitions, foodstuffs, and other essentials at an increasing rate these past few weeks, thanks to a person they knew only as 'Iron-Fist', a mysterious raider and pirate who seemed to have sympathies with the Rebellion. Robb could only guess as to the identity of this mysterious stranger, and so far, all his guesses came up blank.

Soon enough, he came up to the command center. Straightening out his bodysuit, he entered without hesitation, and he saw Sato conversing with a hooded, lean figure.

"Ah, there you are, Master Chief. I was just finishing talking to our friend here about you. He apparently knows much about your homeworld, and wishes to speak to you about a development he's discovered, there," Sato greeted upon seeing him.

That floored Robb. How did this guy know where his homeworld was when he didn't even know himself? How did this guy know _him_?

He took a closer look at his figure. The man, for he was shaped as one, was tall and lean. Beneath the cowl of the hood, Robb could make out a silvery beard, and where human hands might have been, machine similes took their place.

"I beg your pardon, stranger, but who are you, exactly?" he asked. The stranger chuckled, though it was full of regret and sadness, but also…hope, perhaps?

"Some part of me had hoped that you had forgotten me," he said in a familiar voice to Robb, "but the more rational part realized that you could never have forgotten what I've done, brother."

 _Brother?_

To answer his unspoken question, the stranger took off his hood, and Robb swore his eyeballs nearly popped out of his head.

Standing before him was the turncoat, the oathbreaker, the traitor.

Robb could find no words as he stared into the gaunt face of his former friend, Theon Greyjoy.

* * *

 **A/N: PLOT TWIST, MOTHA FUCKAS!**

 **Ok, if that hit you out of left field, apologies, but this is something I had always planned from the very beginning. Robb and Bran weren't going to be the only ASOIAF characters in this fic, and a big part of Robb's character development/quasi-redemption arc would have to be confronting the biggest mental block he has- his bitterness and rage over Theon's betrayal.**

 **The nightmare scene was inspired by a conversation with Ahsokafanboy1138. Essentially, we spitballed the idea that Robb would be haunted by the guilt over his past misdeeds, and I wanted to make it more horrifying to him if the faces of his enemies shifted to those of his friends.**

 **So, Robb notices something going on between Sabine and Ezra, even if they don't notice it themselves. Ultimately, however, he can't convince them to express their feelings. They must do that themselves, and it may take them some time still before that moment comes.**

 **See ya in the next chapter!**


	18. Theon I

They stared at each other from only a few feet away, yet to Theon, the gap might as well have been a vast chasm- a nearly unbridgeable gap separating them.

To Theon, Robb had hardly aged at all, though the boy that he had once known was forever dead, and in his place, was a cold, hard man. His hair was still a rich, dark shade of red, his eyes their piercing blue. As a matter of fact, the only real indication Theon could see that Robb had aged was the slight crow's feet he had developed, and the wrinkles on his still human hands.

A more hopeful part of himself wanted to run across the room and embrace him, but the logical side of him told him to prepare for an attack, as he was certain that Robb would not hesitate to try to end his life- he did betray him, after all.

Sure enough…

Robb launched at him like a hungry direwolf, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there like a bug. Theon felt Robb's rough, calloused hands wrap around his neck, attempting to strangle the life out of him.

" _Robb..._ " he attempted to beg, choking out the name of his once-brother and would-be killer. Already, he could see the red haze creeping into his vision, and although his mind was becoming foggier, he could still see Robb's eyes, wild with murderous fury.

As soon as it began however, it ended, as Robb was dragged off him by four soldiers, each struggling to contain the berserker back, all the while Robb was hurling insults.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he roared, trying to kill Theon whilst everyone else attempted to calm the enraged wolf. "YOU DARE SHOW YOUR FACE HERE? AFTER EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE? AFTER EVERYTHING YOU STOLE FROM ME?"

Theon turned his head, unable to face Robb. How could he have justified what he had done to him when everything Robb thought of him was probably true? How could he have apologized, when the very nature of his crimes could be deemed unforgivable by many, if not most?

"Master Chief, stand down!" Sato barked at him. Robb still bore holes into Theon with his bloodthirsty gaze, but otherwise calmed down, nodding to the commander while shrugging the remaining soldiers off.

"Alright, sir, but understand that I'm not talking to that mother fucking whoreson unless he has something very, very important to say," Robb spat, never losing track of Theon.

Theon sighed. "Yes, I do have something important to say. Something that could change the course of this war for the better, and something that _will_ interest you greatly, Robb."

"Doubt it," Robb seethed.

"We'll see," Theon simply said. Robb would know soon enough. He had to, or else everything would be doomed. He began pacing around the room.

"For years, now, I have been raiding Imperial convoys for the Rebellion with my crew. Weapons, medicine, foodstuffs, you name it. But it was on my most recent raid that I learned something of dire importance- something that set me on the path to finding you, Robb."

"Get to the point, Theon," Robb growled at him.

"I was just getting to it, Robb," Theon stressed. He knew he had done wrong. He had the scars of atonement to prove it a thousand times over. But still, it was never enough. A good act never washes out the bad, nor does an evil act wash out the righteous. He figured he would likely be still paying for his sins for the rest of his life, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was the here and now. "As I was saying; on our most recent raid, we intercepted an Imperial research vessel. Nothing out of the usual, really, but this one was…" he paused, trying to find the right words. "Different."

"Different…how?" Commander Sato asked him, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow.

Theon rubbed his beard, colored silver due to all the torment he had endured at the hands of that beast, Ramsay.

"Well, for one, there weren't any stormtroopers guarding it," he began. "Rather, they were Deathtroopers."

That got everyone's attention. Sato's eyes shot up in surprise, while Robb's hateful gaze softened a fraction. Very few had heard of the Empire's elite commando force, and with good reason. They were fearsome, ruthless, and thorough when it came to black ops. Many rebel cells had gone silent in the past due to these mysterious and terrifying foes; the only evidence that they had operated in the area were usually burning buildings and broken bodies.

"How did you and your men defeat them?" Sato asked him, astonished.

"Oh yes, Greyjoy. Please regale us with your tale of your heroic exploits," Robb sarcastically added, waving his hands around for dramatic effect,

"Very carefully," Theon answered, deliberately ignoring Robb's barb. "I lost a lot of good men securing that ship. Too damned many, in fact. Fortunately for us and our cause, however, the Imperial research team did not manage to erase the data we needed…barely..." He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a data card. It was a funny little thing, this card. So much information could be held on such a small object. It seemed quaint, really, that his men and the Rebellion itself went through all that trouble for such a small thing…a seemingly insignificant thing that could hold the key to the fall of empires. He cleared his head of such thoughts, though, and plugged the data card into the holotable.

Immediately, a holographic model of a planet came to life, its surface covered by vast oceans and four, large continents. This was their homeworld, found after so many trials and tribulations. This was the cradle of humanity itself.

This was Valaryos.

Robb's hateful gaze gave into one of disbelief and awe.

"How?" his voice had gone hoarse. "This…this can't be true. It has to be a lie!"

That was it. Theon had put up with Robb for quite long enough and was finally at the limit of his patience. Was he that myopic and so fixated on the past that he thought everything Theon told him was a lie?

"Why would I be lying about this, Robb?" he finally raised his voice, sweeping his hands to the holotable. "What reason do I have to deceive you?"

"You have every reason!" Robb snapped at him, pointing a finger at his face. "A traitor like you only knows how to lie and deceive!"

"Gentlemen, that's quite enough!" Sato barked, silencing the two bickering former brothers. "Master Chief, you are usually far more disciplined than this, and right now, you are acting like a spoiled child, fighting with his brother over a common toy!"

Robb turned to Sato, fury burning in his eyes. "That fucker is _not_ my brother. He has never been. If you trust him, he'll end up selling you out to our enemies in a heartbeat, sir."

"It's just a risk we'll have to end up taking, Master Chief," Sato countered, "and regardless, I still need to hear the rest of the briefing." The older commander nodded for Theon to continue.

The thirty-two-year-old Ironborn sighed again. "As I was saying, we had found the location of Valaryos, the homeworld of our ancestors." He clarified, deliberately leaving out the part that Robb and himself were actually _from_ Valaryos. Call it a hunch, but he had the feeling that Sato would not believe him. "It is a fairly average world, located in the Outer Rim near the Unknown Regions. More like Wild Space, really, as it is located about a hundred parsecs due west of Zeta."

"Curious, but aside from Robb now knowing where your ancestral home is, I fail to see how much help this is to the Rebellion," Sato informed, striking Theon as the type of man who did not like to be kept waiting.

"I was just getting to that," Theon informed them. "But first, let me ask you a question, commander; how well do you know the legend of the Katana Fleet?"

That really got the commander's attention. "Very well, as a matter of fact. My father used to tell me stories all the time about it, that it would have been one way for the Republic to restore its long-lost glory, and it was lost on its maiden voyage, with no one knowing where or why it disappeared." He fell silent for a while, obviously in thought. Two hundred ships, all Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, didn't just vanish into thin air after all. "Why do you ask?"

To answer the commander's question, Theon keyed in a set of commands on the holotable. The graphical representation then lit up with a dull red glow, right in the Narrow Sea between Westeros and Essos.

"When we were pilfering through the Imperial's research data, we noticed that they had been interested in two key locations," he informed, pointing towards the planet. "One of which is here, in the sea between these two continents. The other is here, in the far north. Cross-referencing this with the last known trajectory of the Katana Fleet..." Theon punched in a few commands on the console, and the view zoomed out to show the position of the planet in relation to local star clusters. Almost immediately, a dotted line appeared, zigzagging from the shipyards of Rendili to its last known position at Ord Mantell before it blindly jumped into hyperspace for an unknown reason. The final dotted line passed through Valaryos, hitting it dead center.

Sato sat silent for a moment, apparently trying to process the information. When he spoke, his voice was full of resolve.

"If this fleet exists…if it is truly on your homeworld…" he trailed off for a moment before resuming, "this could be the thing we need to turn the tide of this war." He put his hand on his chin. "Do the Imperials know the actual location of the fleet? Have they found it?"

Theon shook his head. "No. From our interrogations and our pilfering, they haven't even found a hint or hair of it. Whoever hid that fleet did a remarkable job of making sure it stayed hidden."

"So, we still have time to find it, assuming you aren't leading us into a trap," Robb crossed his arms.

"Aye, we may," Theon answered. "But we may not have much time left. It is only a matter of time before the Imperials unearth what they are looking for...if they haven't already."

"And on top of that, the information we've received on both the TIE Defender factory on Lothal, as well as the confirmation that a superweapon is being constructed above Scariff, thanks to Saw Gerrara…" Sato trailed off again. "We need that fleet if we are to have a hope of winning this war." With that, he ordered the lights to be turned on again and nodded to Robb. "I will brief you and the Ghost crew in two standard hours on your mission. In the meantime, I believe Mr. Greyjoy has requested to speak to you in private."

Robb raised an inquisitive eyebrow but said nothing as Sato and most of his men left the command room, leaving just the two of them alone, with one guard watching over the pair in case anything went wrong.

"Robb…" he attempted to speak, but his former friend cut him off.

"Don't, turncloak," he seethed. "I don't want to hear any apology from you! It's far too late for that!" He pointed an accusing finger at Theon's face.

Theon sighed. "I wasn't about to apologize, Robb. And I know it would do little good, anyway. I was about to tell you how I came to be here, in this time, and of the danger that faces you."

Robb growled and started to pace like a wolf, before finally relenting, dismissing the guard before turning back to him.

"Alright, oathbreaker. What do you have to say? And be quick about it; I grow sicker every second I have to stare at you."

Theon rubbed his hand over his face. "Where to start? Well, I don't know if Bran told you, but I did not kill your brothers, nor did I burn Winterfell to the ground. That was all Ramsay Bolton's doing."

At that, he suppressed a shudder, though just mentioning that psychopath's name made his blood run cold. Over twelve years had passed, and not a night went by where he was not haunted by the specter of his tormentor and enslaver.

"Ramsay Bolton?" Robb questioned. "I had no knowledge that Roose had any trueborn children asides from Domeric, who had died shortly before my father was named Robert's hand."

"Ramsay was his legitimized bastard, and he embodied that title in every conceivable way." He corrected as he looked down at his hands, once flesh and blood, but now machine and metal. "I don't know how long he tormented me in the Dreadfort. Weeks, months, it mattered little. He broke me in there, Robb. Turned me into some pathetic little creature he paraded around and called 'Reek'."

 _Reek, reek, it rhymes with freak_.

"No less than you deserved," Robb interrupted, glaring daggers at him, "I heard what happened after my death talking to Bran, including how Jon and Sansa retook Winterfell from those cravens. So, get to the point of how you wound up here, or I'm leaving."

Theon exasperated. "Fine. After the final battle with the White Walkers, whom I'm sure Bran told you existed, I ruled the Iron Islands for a bit, as my entire biological family had perished during the war," Theon flexed his cybernetic hands, again. "I only did so until a new King's Moot could decide on a new family to rule the islands, which happened to be the Harlaws, and then I set off wandering the world in search of a purpose. When I failed…" Theon trailed off here, the memories becoming almost unbearable. "I ended it. I hung myself from the nearest rafter. I did not reach any heaven or hell, though. I instead wound up on Arcadia, and from there, I soon found myself in the service of the Intelligence Minister, Duke Lund."

"You know Duke Lund?" Robb asked him. "I worked for him for a few years myself in his intelligence service, about a month after Saw busted me out of that Imperial prison. Strange, he never seemed to mention you to me..." he shook his head. "That old boar has some serious explaining to do."

"Probably it was because I only came into his picture months after you left his service to join the rebellion," Theon informed. "Anyways, he's the one who set me up with a ship and a crew, after I helped him in a certain matter that involved my hands getting replaced with…" He showed Robb his cybernetic appendages. "These. After that, I managed to get into contact with Fulcrum, and for years, we've been raiding for the rebellion, plundering and looting supply convoys heading towards bases in the Rim. It was only after my most recent raid that I was visited by Bran, who told me of the world's true name, and where to find you."

Robb's eyes dropped, his expression unreadable. "So, Bran trusts you? He's forgiven you, even after all that's happened?"

Theon nodded. "It would seem that way, but I assume that when you are an immortal, god-like being, grudges aren't really even a consideration, anymore," he paused. "Do you forgive me?"

Robb chuckled, bitterly and without mirth. "Theon, let me explain something to you. Out of all my siblings, you and Jon were the ones I was closest to. The ones I could trust with life and limb, beyond all doubt. When Jon left for the wall and father died, the only ones I had for true counsel were you and mother. You were to be my left hand, Theon! My most trusted ally! And what did you do?" he trailed off for a moment, before continuing. "Aye, maybe I was arrogant. Maybe I antagonized you too much and belittled your heritage, but how did that give you the right to betray me?" Robb fixed him with the coldest glare he'd ever felt. "In the end, Theon, it wasn't Roose's dagger, Walder's anger, or Rickard's lust for revenge that killed me. It was your knife that drove the deepest," he snarled, getting up out of his chair. "So, no, I don't forgive you. I will never forgive you, most likely."

With that, Robb left the command room, leaving Theon all alone to process his thoughts, his grief, and his sorrow.

* * *

It was a few hours later that he met the rest of the _Ghost_ crew, and already he could feel their judging glares upon him. The pilot, the young Jedi, and the Lasat especially all regarded him like he was a piece of shit. The Mandalorian's face was one of stone, though he could probably guess as to what her feelings towards him were. Truly, the only one who didn't seem to judge him, ironically, was the blind Jedi, yet it seemed as if he was staring through Theon, piercing his very soul with those sightless eyes.

"So," Robb broke the tension, "shall we go over the plan one more time?"

The Mandalorian, Sabine, nodded. "From the information, Theon provided us, the security around this place is surprisingly not that tight. I propose we take two ships for this mission since we're taking on a lot more people than we usually do."

The pilot, Hera, nodded. "Sabine, Ezra, Kanan, and Rau will take the _Starbird_ to the western continent 's tundra region here," she intoned, and pointed to the hologram, ironically right where Winterfell was located. "Zeb, Robb, and I will take the _Ghost_ and investigate the energy readings coming from this sea," she told them, pointing towards the hologram, right towards the middle of the Narrow Sea. "If we run into any trouble, Theon and his vessel, the _Remembrance_ , will act as a quick reaction force and rear guard in case of something extreme. Any questions?"

"How long is this op supposed to be, boss?" The Lasat, Zeb, asked of his captain.

"If all goes well, a couple of days," Hera answered. "However, be prepared to stay there at least a month."

"The most heavily guarded area seems to be in the far north, beyond the borders of the tundra, hence why we're avoiding it," Kanan spoke up. Not for the first time, today, Theon wondered just how that blind man could see.

"If it's the most heavily guarded, I say the Imperials are up to something in that area," the other Mandalorian, Rau, offered. "And if they're interested in something that barren and cold…"

"Whatever it is can't be good for us," Ezra finished. "Hey, we stole from stormtroopers, before. Why not stop now?" He joked though it fell flat with his intended audience.

"Because these places aren't guarded by stormtroopers, my friend," Theon answered. "They are guarded by the elite of the Imperial military. Naval Special Warfare. Deathtroopers, to be more precise. And rest assured, they _don't_ miss unless they're ordered to. I agree with Kanan on this matter. The area beyond the northern wall should be off limits, for now."

Hera nodded at him, though she still looked a little leery of him. "Alright, I think we've about covered everything in this briefing. We leave in twelve hours, and it's going to be a long trip. Pack your things and sleep well, kids."

With that, the briefing ended, and soon Theon was left alone again. Well, almost alone- the Jedi Kanan was here as well.

"Funny," Theon mused aloud, "you are the first person today that didn't treat me like a total piece of shit, asides from Sato. Why is that?"

"I sense no deceit from you." Kanan simply answered. "There are strong feelings of grief and anguish within you; regrets for what you have done in the past," he spoke and sat down in front of him, in the chair opposite. "Robb, from what I have noticed these past eight or so months living with him, distrusts everyone that isn't a member of his pack. Once you get accepted, however, you are a friend for life. He is slow to forgive, however, and he never forgets an ill-turn."

"Tell me something I don't know," Theon snorted.

Kanan shrugged. "Robb needs to learn to let go of his anger towards you, that the Theon that betrayed him is not the same Theon I'm sitting in front of, now. But its something only he can change. You can show him the way, but he must walk the path."

Theon nodded, then he felt his face sour. He got up to look outside the hanger. In the distance, he saw black storm clouds on the horizon; a rarity for a desert world, and an extremely dangerous one, at that.

And he could not help the sinking feeling in his stomach that this represented an ill omen.

A portent that predicted that war would come to this little world.

And the lives of this crew would change forever because of it.

* * *

 **A/N: Finally done with this chapter.**

 **Yep, the Katana Fleet. The central plot point to Dark Force Rising is making its way here. And honestly, the rebels could use its firepower.**

 **Now, we are beginning to see crucial things happening without the** _ **Ghost's**_ **involvement, such as Saw Gerrera's actions regarding the Death Star, and that without them, time marches on regardless.**

 **Some very critical things are going to happen on Valaryos, mark my words. Things our heroes must discover about themselves, their pasts, and what kind of threat truly lies beyond the veil.**

 **Now, as for Bran knowing the name of the planet they're from, well, let's just say that after the end of the TV series, they finally decided upon a name, and Planetos was immediately tossed out.**

 **Till the next.**


	19. Ezra III

Valaryos was breathtaking, Ezra thought upon the _Starbird_ pulling out of hyperspace right next to the planet- the hologram of it did little justice to the real thing. The four continents, from the tall, narrow western one Robb and Theon called 'Westeros', to the broad, elongated eastern land known as 'Essos', to the dark green one called 'Sothoryos', and even the mysterious, dark land known as 'Uthlyos' looked like something out of a storybook.

"I've never seen so much color on a planet, before," Sabine whispered, already having fallen in love with this place. True enough, there were shades of green, tan, white, red, brown, and black in abundance, compounded with light blue lakes and dark, azure seas.

" _It is indeed a thing of beauty_ ," Robb's voice broke over the comms. " _But the beauty of it lies on the surface. There, you can see everything in its entirety."_

Ezra could only take Robb's word for it. From what the former king described of the North, it had some sort of cold beauty to it. Vast forests of dark green pine and oak, rolling moors and fields of grass, and rivers of the deepest blue, occasionally covered by endless fields of white snow.

"Have we been spotted by any Imperial ships?" Kanan asked Sabine, sitting in the chair behind Ezra.

"No," she informed them, a bit of concern seeping through her voice, the worry hitting Ezra like a brick. "Not even a picket ship. I'm picking up massive power readings from the area to the far north, though."

" _Hence why we aren't going there, yet,_ " Theon's voice broke through the comm. _"Not picking up on any alarms or increased radio traffic from my end. And…" his voice trailed off. "I'm not picking up on any signs of sentient life, either, other than from that research station."_

"Kanan…" Ezra began. Now he was starting to worry. He felt the Force practically gushing from this planet, but almost no sentient life. It was as if this place were abandoned centuries ago…or it had been cleansed of all sentient beings.

Call it déjà vu, but he was started to be reminded of Geonosis, somewhat.

"I feel it, too," his master and father-figure replied grimly. "Something happened here, long ago. I can still feel the after-effects of the Dark Side. But as to what happened, I do not know."

" _But we will get to the bottom of it_ ," Hera's voice boomed over the intercom. " _Robb and Theon deserve answers. We all do."_

Ezra could only nod his assent, as the _Starbird_ and the _Ghost_ dipped down into the planet's atmosphere, the former heading towards the tundra, whilst the latter headed for the large, crescent-shaped bay on the eastern coast.

Ezra could soon see why Robb loved his homeland so much; it was _vast_ and _wild_ , very much like he described. Open and free. As they landed and stepped outside into the cool, fresh air, Ezra took in his surroundings.

The sky was a dark, dreary gray, giving this place a rustic, ancient look. To the east of him lay a forest, old and foreboding. All around him were rolling hills and endless moors, rolling and green, and to the north…

To the north lay a castle that was easily the size of an _Acclamator II_ -class frigate, it's imposing, double layered granite walls giving off an ancient and foreboding feeling, as if the fortress itself was the king of this land, judging everyone and anyone who dared trespass its domain. And he didn't know why, but it felt like the castle was calling to him, beckoning him closer and encouraging him to find out its secrets…

"Ezra?" Kanan's voice called him back to the here and now. His master followed his gaze, towards the ancient castle to the north. "You felt it, too?"

Ezra nodded. "Call me crazy, Kanan, but I feel as if that castle is…alive…somehow. Like there's a Force Nexus right underneath it, or inside it. I feel like it's...summoning us."

His master grimaced. "Well, whatever the case may be, we can consider it later. Right now, Rau's found something…odd."

Ezra's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Odd? What does he mean by that?"

Kanan said nothing to his pupil, only turning around and beckoning him to follow. Now, the young Lothalian was curious.

A few hundred meters away to the west, they had reached their destination, where they meet Rau and Sabine. The trio was staring at a grisly scene; about thirty dead large wildcats, surrounding what appeared to be a dead wolf, in the middle of a large clearing. A gigantic wolf at that, Ezra realized, for the canine was almost as large as a young horse.

"What the hell happened here?" Ezra wondered aloud, taking in the carnage before him.

"Looks like some sort of territorial dispute that ended badly," Rau answered, though his response came out as unsure to the others. "Happens all the time in nature."

"I don't think so," Sabine countered, as they moved closer to inspect the dead wolf, which honestly reminded Ezra of the Loth-wolves back home. The young Mandalorian knelt beside the beast's corpse, examining it over several times before turning to the others. "Well, it's a she, for one, and it looks like a mother of cubs, judging by the swell of the belly and the fact it looked recently sucked on. My guess is that she was trying to protect her young."

"Ok, but where are the cubs?" Ezra asked the obvious question. "Could they have been…eaten?"

Kanan shook his head. "It's possible, but I don't think so. Wildcats like these don't devour prey on the spot."

"As an aside," Fenn continued. "we didn't see any other tracks, feline or canine, that came through this area."

"Which begs the question; where are the cubs?" Sabine pondered aloud. It was then that they all heard it; distinctive, high-pitched whining coming from a few feet away, from under a bush. When they reached the bush, they found the source of the noise; two scared, healthy young wolf pups. One's fur was a midnight hue, with eyes so golden you might have mistaken it for an animalistic Sith, at first. The other had a copper coat, and eyes the color of lilacs.

Ezra did not know why, but he felt a connection with the one with the dark fur. It was almost as if the Force had ordained him to find this lost pup, who was now staring deeply into his own eyes. And the copper one was doing the same with Sabine, as she picked it up and held it gently, like a mother with a newborn.

"What will they do now that their mother's gone?" Ezra asked his master, as he picked up the black pup and cradled it in his arms. To his own surprise, it did not bite or scratch him. He saw Kanan rub his beard, apparently trying to come up with an appropriate answer.

"Well, if you two hadn't found them, then I'd say those pups would have eventually starved to death, or worse," Kanan mused. "However, I don't think it was an accident you found them. Whether you realize it or not, you two, destiny and fate has brought us here. For what purpose, I don't know, but those two pups are connected to you, as is that ancient ruin, I suspect."

Ezra turned his head back to the ancient fortress. He furrowed his brow. The place felt strange, and yet at the same time, familiar, like an old friend he had not seen or heard from in ages.

It was then that Kanan's commlink beeped. The blind Jedi Knight, no longer hobbled by his disability, flawlessly picked up the device and answered it. "Specter 1, this is 2. Go ahead, over."

" _2, this is 1. So far, we've found nothing in this ruined city Robb and Theon both call 'King's Landing.' I don't know what happened here, love, but so far…so far, we've found nothing but old bones and overgrown vines. Whatever happened here must have been…"_

"Yeah, I've felt it, too," Kanan interrupted. "I can still feel the lingering after-effects of the Dark Side in places, here. Speaking of which, can you key Specter 7 in? We may have found something he may very well be interested in, over."

" _And this something interesting is?_ " Hera asked them, her own interest perked up.

"A castle just to the north of us," Kanan answered. "Red granite, on top of a low hill. Two sets of walls; the first one is twenty-four meters high, the second one thirty."

The commlink went silent for a few, tense moments before Hera answered again. This time, however, her voice was quieter, as if she were humbled by something.

" _Winterfell. He says that old castle is his home, Winterfell. And that…"_ her voice trailed off, apparently unsure if she should go for or against something _"…and that he needs to see it. No matter how painful it is for him."_

Ezra saw his father-figure's jaw tighten ever so slightly, then relax as he nodded. "I agree. If this will help him finally put the past behind him, and forgive all the wrongs done to him, then he needs to do it. He cannot, and will not, find balance otherwise."

 _Balance_ , Ezra mused silently to himself. It was the core tenant of what a Jedi strove to be, in harmony with nature and at peace with one's self, as Kanan had once said to him. Very few, though, had ever achieved total balance- a certain state of oneness and resiliency that not even the greatest of disasters could crumble. Most tried to find true balance and failed, for there were always emotional attachments, old wounds, and regrets. Human nature, in short.

The pup stirred in his arms. He did not know what to call him, yet, but he was sure that he'd think of a name when he got back to the _Ghost_.

He then grimaced. He was sure Kanan was fine with him and Sabine keeping the wolf pups, but Hera? How would she react to two young, wild cubs that would grow into large, fearsome predators? Especially with little room on the ship as it was? Perhaps they could have someone watch over them on Atollon when they went on missions, but that presented a whole 'nother slew of problems itself.

He cleared his head of such thoughts. Kanan believed that they were fated to receive these pups, and he had long ago learned to listen to him when he spoke of such things. It would work out in due time, and he would cross those troublesome bridges when he came to them.

Kanan's voice again brought him back to the present. "Well, looks like both Robb and Theon are on their way here. I recommend we start heading back to the castle." He said, pointing towards Winterfell. "We can perhaps use it as a base camp while we expand our search, and it would make for a good shelter, should any storms come to pass through."

"Plus, if these animals are any indication, the forest nearby should still be ripe with game." Rau pointed out as they began making their way back to the fortress. "And there's a river nearby. We could potentially increase the time we have to scour the world in search of this legendary fleet."

"We have to be careful, though," Sabine argued, as her pup squirmed a little in her arms. "If the Imperials get word that we're here, things could go south really quick."

The discussion ceased as soon as they walked through the gatehouse, with Ezra and his mentor pushing open the gates with the Force.

 _Strange_ , Ezra thought as they walked into what was presumably the outer courtyard, noticing the prevalent wolf sigils and statues adorning the place. _The wood should have rotted away centuries ago, not to mention the iron and steel should have rusted away into virtually…nothing. It's like someone was here recently, and took it upon themselves to restore the place._

He was suddenly on guard. What if the Imperials were the ones who restored it? They were on the planet, too, after all. What if they were being watched closely by hidden camcorders, and listened on by secret transceivers bugged in this place?

No, he realized. The Empire was not expecting them; they could not have had the time to wire the place. Or…maybe…

What if the Force had preserved this place, somehow? Granted, it was a stretch, but given the Imperials' proclivity towards neglect and abuse, it somehow made more sense, especially given the fact that they haven't stepped on any bones, yet.

"It's kinda…colorless," Sabine remarked dryly, snapping Ezra out of his musings.

"Well, it's been abandoned for Force knows how long, Bean," Ezra offered. "I'm guessing during Robb's old days, it was a riot of color." _  
_

_And Bendu's, don't forget_ , he reminded himself, as it was revealed to him and Kanan a while back by Robb that their mysterious mentor was none other than Brandon Stark, his younger brother.

Sabine snorted. "Unlikely. I don't know if you've noticed, Ez, but Robb isn't exactly the most artistic of guys. Besides, I have the feeling this place was pretty dour and grim, even when it wasn't empty of all life. Well, all life sans present company, that is..." she snarked, then fell silent as they heard the telltale whine of the _Phantom II's_ sublight engines powering down and the craft beginning it's landing cycle. A few, tense moments passed, the very air itself going silent, and then the great iron gates opened up, to reveal the castle's long-lost son.

Ezra had seen Robb angry, brooding, joyful, sad, friendly, and nonchalant. He had seen him act with distrustful indifference to strangers, open-hearted warmth to friends, and ruthless brutality towards his enemies, but today…today was a first.

Today he saw him act in reverence.

The Lord of Winterfell stepped into his den, his breath hitched and ragged, his gait becoming unsteady as if he would collapse at any moment. The young Lothalian saw the Northman walk lost in memory, gently grazing his hands on every little stone and statue.

Ezra was unsure if he should follow him. One the one hand, Robb probably needed this time alone. On the other, he would also need a friend and brother to be there for him when the waterworks inevitably fell. After a moment of consideration, Ezra went with the first option, following Robb into the largest building, which he presumed to be the great hall, Sabine following a step behind him, and their wolf pups trotting alongside them.

His assumption proved correct, for they stepped into what appeared to be a huge dining chamber. He reckoned that the hall could easily fit half a thousand men inside comfortably, judging by the eight long tables. At the end of the hall, he presumed was the high table, for it sat on a raised platform, and had twelve seats, presumably for the king, his family, and his guests of honor. He saw Robb run a calloused hand along the wood, still looking as fresh as the day it was carved.

"This is where my family used to sit during meals," the lord of the castle whispered quietly, apparently aware that the two youngest members of the crew were following him. "Well, most of us. Jon and Theon had to sit in the back, due to being a 'bastard' and a hostage, respectively. My mother…" he trailed off, then looked off to the door on the right. "That door leads to the throne room, where my father used to receive visitors and handle matters of great import. We rarely used it, though, as we found this hall to suffice, usually." He then took a deep breath and continued walking on, with Ezra, Sabine, and their two pups towing along.

After walking through the bedchambers, the throne room, the kitchens, the lord's study, and the maester's solar, with Robb occasionally telling a brief, memory-filled story, they finally came back outside and through another gate, this one leading to a garden of some sort.

No, not a garden, Ezra realized. An enclosed forest within the castle itself, with pine and oak in abundance, and in the center of this wooded area, besides a pool of clear, blue water, stood the tree from Ezra's nightmare.

A weirwood, Bendu-no, Bran Stark, had called it, when the ancient Force-wielder had one day taken him into the caves of Atollon and showed him one such tree, explaining to him that they were conduits of the living Force, and were sacred to the ancient peoples of their homeland.

"This reminds me of the garden my family has in our own castle on Krownest," Sabine whispered quietly, having picked up her pup again and stroking its copper fur. "We didn't have any of those strange trees, though. It was an oak at the center of the courtyard that my family prayed in front of."

Ezra paused, taking in this new information with newfound clarity and surprise. This was the first time she's talked about her home, which he had assumed to be on Mandalore. Just how much did he really know about his closest friend, the woman he love-.

 _Stop it_ , he chided himself mentally. _She doesn't feel that way about you. She views you as a brother, at most!_

Does she?

It was so hard telling with her emotions, at times. One day, she'd be affectionate with him, the next, she would act closed off and distant. More and more, however, it had become the latter, and nearly everyone in the crew could tell that something was eating her up, but what, he did not know, and it frustrated him.

Robb walked right to the weirwood tree, his pace becoming more and more haphazard, and when he reached the foot of that mighty tree, he collapsed. And for the first time in his life, Ezra heard a sound from Robb he'd never thought he'd hear, before.

He was weeping; bitterly, and Ezra knew that he was at least mourning the loss of his biological family.

"I'm sorry…" he kept on repeating, his voice cracked and breaking. "I'm not the man you were, father. I've failed to live up to your sacred honor. If only we had never taken the southern road…"

Ezra's heart broke. He's seen plenty of strong men break in the heat of battle, or in its aftermath. He had himself grieved for lost friends and his parents- a pain which still hurt to this day, but never would he have imagined seeing this side of Robb, the stoic, taciturn former king reduced to tears, begging for forgiveness from his gods and his father.

Ezra took a deep breath, stepped forward towards where Robb was kneeling and did what his master had done with him in his own moment of greatest despair.

He hugged him.

Robb seemed taken aback by this, his cold blue eyes widening in surprise. He looked at Ezra, his own eyes burning with the one question he knew was coming:

 _Why?_

"You're my brother," the younger man answered the elder. "You're one of the pack. And I will never abandon you. _We_ will never abandon you, not as long as we're still alive."

Robb sat still for a moment, then Ezra felt the man's strong arms wrap around his shoulders, his face pressed into his collarbone.

"Thank you, brother," he whispered hoarsely. "Thank you all. For everything."

They both stood up, and it was then Robb finally looked at the two wolf pups that tailed Ezra and Sabine, his eyes widening in recognition, and hope, and breathed out one word;

"Direwolves…"

 _Direwolves_ , Ezra repeated in his mind. So, those what those pups were.

"Where did you find those direwolf cubs?" Robb pressed, now suddenly interested in the cubs as they came meandering over to him, obviously entranced by this lord of a house that bore their likeness on their banners and statues.

"Over in a meadow to the west of here." Sabine answered for them, "We found them underneath a bush, hiding from wildcats. Their mother was dead, and she was surrounded by a _lot_ of dead wild cats."

Robb's gaze hardened. "I pray this isn't an ill omen. I received my direwolf in a similar way; his mother had been slain by a stag she had been fighting. Later, I realize that it was an omen for my own father's death at the hands of Joffrey. Regardless, however, whether you two realize it or not, those direwolves chose you. You are bound to them by spirit like I was with my own direwolf, Grey Wind..." he trailed off for a moment, looking at the pups, then back at the two young warriors. "Have you given them names, yet?"

Sabine smiled at her own lilac-eyed pup, who was busy playing with her brother. "I think I'll call her 'Runi'" she said affectionately.

"Runi. _Mando'a_ for 'artistic soul', I believe," Robb replied. "A perfect name for your wolf," he complimented and turned to Ezra, "and what about yours?"

Ezra racked his brain, trying to think up a name. Ghost? No, that didn't really describe his wolf's personality. Plus, he didn't particularly feel like naming his direwolf after both the ship that was his home _and_ Robb's brother's wolf.

Shadow? Although it certainly fit in some ways, since the pup seemed to follow him around like a damned shadow, that name carried far too many negative connotations for his liking.

He looked again at his raven-coated pup, Ezra's electric blue eyes meeting his wolf's yellow-gold ones. In some ways, looking at his wolf, he was reminded of his own stormy past, the grief and the rage he felt over the deaths of his parents and his friends, the betrayal he felt over Maul's deceit, but also the relationships he established with the crew, his newfound purpose in the Rebellion, his surrogate mother, and father, and Sabine. He was then reminded of something Kanan said, about the duality of the storm. That while the storm brought gales and lightning, it also brought water and life.

Suddenly, it clicked in his head.

Smiling, he got up and faced Robb and Sabine, who were looking at him with expectant gazes.

"Storm," he said, looking back down at the young direwolf. "His name is Storm."

* * *

 **A/N: So, another chapter is done.**

 **Now, some of you may be wondering why the hell Winterfell is in such pristine condition, when almost everywhere else it actually looks like nobody's inhabited the place for five thousand years or so. Well, when your brother is a literal god who's trying to prevent the end of everything, it's not much of a stretch to say that he might have been focusing on keeping Winterfell intact so any clues they might find would not rot away from the slow decay of time. (Yes, yes, laws of entropy and all that, but this is the Force we're talking about here.)**

 **Yep, Ezra and Sabine now have direwolves, Storm, and Runi. Why did I decide to give them wolves? Well, you'll see…**

 **As for the reason why they are at Winterfell, it's not just to look for the Katana Fleet. It will be here that they will discover truth; about themselves, about others, and about the true war, the only war that matters.**

 **Until next time, and may the Force be with you, always.**


	20. Sabine IV

_Her mother's eyes were hard and cold, her face etched in icy contempt for her daughter._

 _Her brother's eyes were filled with hot fire, his face contorted in confused rage at her 'betrayal'._

 _Her father's eyes were filled with disappointment, and his face lined with regret._

 _In each of their hands was clasped a Mandalorian sword, pointing them towards the ground like executioners on judgment day._

"Dar'manda _," her mother spat, as the cold whipped around them._

" _Oathbreaker," her brother snarled, the knuckles on his hands going white as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly._

" _Kinslayer," her father intoned, his voice hoarse as if he had been weeping beforehand._

" _Kill the traitor," all three said at once, their voices suddenly becoming monotone. They slowly started to advance on her, their blades slowly raising, ready to take her head._

 _She tried to run but found that she couldn't move. As a matter of fact, she felt the wind get knocked out of her, forcing her to her knees in a desperate attempt to suck down precious air. She looked up, only to find her brother standing over her, his sword on the back of her neck._

" _Tristan…" she tried to beg, with tears in her eyes. "Don't…"_

" _You are no sister of mine," he retorted._

 _He raised his blade._

 _She closed her eyes._

 _The sword descended._

* * *

Sabine woke with a start, her breathing ragged and her heartbeat erratic. She put a hand to her forehead. Cold and clammy. Yep, she had woken up from a nightmare, alright. She rapidly blinked her eyes, trying to get her bearings and get the cobwebs of awakening out of her system.

As her focus returned, she could make out the room she was in; it was one of the bedchambers of Winterfell, a guest room for which she had been accommodated by Robb. She quickly swung her legs over the side over the bed, having foregone the covers due to both her intense training and the fact this room was surprisingly warm, despite no fire in the hearth.

Robb had explained to her that the castle was built upon underground hot springs, and the designer of this castle used the geological feature to heat the castle, using a system of pipes and tunnels that still held up sixteen thousand years later. Impressive, to say the very least.

She heard a sharp rap on her door. Thank the _manda_ she was covered in her favorite pink shirt and black sleeping shorts, or else there were going to be _problems_.

Severe problems.

"Sabine, are you awake?" Robb's stentorian voice sounded through the thick wooden door.

"Am now," she answered, a bit annoyed at the obliviousness of the question.

"Good," the King in the North sounded satisfied. "Kanan wants you down in the great hall. He says it's a matter of utmost importance. And that _everyone_ is showing up."

She quirked an eyebrow at that, as she began taking off her sleeping clothes. More important than finding this legendary fleet, or discovering why this place seemed to draw them in? She looked over at Runi, who wore the same confused expression on her canine face that Sabine did.

"I don't suppose you know what this is about, do you?" Sabine asked her young direwolf, who just responded by quirking her head inquisitively at her.

Sabine sighed. "I guess not."

She finished up putting on her _beskar'gam_ , painted in all her favorite colors and designs, then headed out the door, where Robb was waiting for her, grim-looking and severe. She crossed her arms and stared him down.

"Ok, Robb. What is this about?" she asked him. Despite her not having Jedi-powers like both her closest friend and her father-figure, she could tell when something was wrong or off, and right now, the alarms in her head were going off like crazy.

"You tell me," Robb retorted, mirroring her pose. "Sabine, I don't know if you noticed, but ever since we got back from Dathomir over a month ago, you've been acting rather…how do I want to put it? Pensive? Withdrawn? Like how I used to be?"

She clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "I have not!" She snapped, as she tried to deny the truth even unto itself. The truth was though…she was hiding.

From her so-called destiny.

From her biological family.

From everyone in her home-space judging her when they had no right to.

Robb, perceptive as ever, clearly saw through her façade, and just snorted an "Ok", before sharply turning on his heel, leaving Sabine behind in a confused, frustrated huff. She ran her gloved hand through her bobbed, fuchsia-dyed hair, as she felt Runi nudge her leg. She started to go over the possibilities of what Kanan had deemed so important that it required everyone in the crew plus Rau and Theon to attend.

Did they discover where the fleet was hidden at? No, it could not have been that. She would have been woken up immediately for that, and the atmosphere would not have been as grim as it was, now. She would say it would have been almost joyous.

Was Hera revealed to be pregnant? That would have been even more unlikely than the first. As an aside, if Hera was pregnant with her and Kanan's child, she would not have gone on this mission in the first place- as she would have been forced by Sato to remain on base.

She sighed, mentally exhausting almost every possibility, save for one, which she would not have even begun to consider, as it was so ludicrous. Her adopted family would never do that to her, or so she thought.

As she walked down the dimly lit halls of the abandoned seat of power for Robb's royal family, her mind drifted towards the events on Dathomir and on Concord Dawn. Why did she pick up the Darksaber in the first place? She certainly had no real need of it…well, aside from the remote possibility of going toe to toe with an Inquisitor or, Force forbid, Darth Vader himself. Plus, the baggage that came along with it alone made it undesirable in her eyes.

And yet…the blade still called to her, as if she were destined to wield it.

She frowned. She had to be imagining things. She was no Force-sensitive- Kanan testing her had blatantly made that clear for everyone.

Then, there was the matter of what Gar said to her; that her mother was looking for her. She had to suppress a scoff. The _honorable_ Ursa Wren wouldn't take the time out of her constant politicking and power-plays to give a whiff of concern about an oath-breaker and a traitor, not even if that traitor was her own flesh and blood.

 _All oaths must be upheld_ , she had once told her. _A warrior is measured not by those they kill, but the words by which they are bound, and the fortitude in their hearts. Your honor is everything in this world,_ ad'ika _. Never forget that._

She soon interrupted that train of thought the moment she entered the great hall and saw everyone sitting down. Even Hera and Zeb had come, for some reason; the only one who wasn't physically here was Theon, and even he was attending via hologram, courtesy of Chopper.

"Alright," she began, deciding to sit down next to Ezra at one of the tables, never taking her eyes off Kanan or Rau, who was looking awfully suspicious. "What is this about?"

Kanan spoke first, his voice calm and sure, but also carrying a knowing, ominous edge to it. "As you all know, we are here to retrieve the Katana Fleet and deliver it to Commander Sato. Hera?"

"We've managed to narrow down its position to somewhere in the southwestern bay, located near a large volcanic island," Hera stated. "I believe Robb and Theon would call this place Dragonstone if I'm not mistaken?"

"You are correct," Theon confirmed, crossing his arms. "Within maybe a week, we'll be able to locate its exact position, and then we can finally head back to base."

"But?" Ezra asked the unasked question that was on everyone's mind. There was always a catch, wasn't there.

Sure enough.

Hera grimaced. "Even if we do find the fleet, we don't have the men necessary to crew all the ships. I realize that the ships in this fleet don't require as much living crew as other _Dreadnaughts_ do, but combined, that's still _four hundred thousand_ sailors needed to make sure the fleet is operating at maximum efficiency. Atollon alone only has maybe a _hundredth_ of that number available, and I doubt at this point we can find any available spare men from the other squadrons. We don't have the credits to hire any private military contractors, either."

"What of the Arcadians?" Zeb offered, to which Robb shook his head.

"As willing as King Lysandus and Duke Lund might be, they can't move without Hutt permission, as they are unfortunately under the sovereignty of the Grand Hutt Council, and supply much of Nal Hutta's security and naval might," he clarified, which was meet by curses under muttered breaths. The Hutts did rule over a good section of the Outer Rim, after all, and their illicit activates had built them a thriving trade empire.

And unfortunately for them, Jabba and the other four heads of the Great Houses had good, stable relations with the Empire.

"That leaves us only with one choice," Rau stated, his voice laced with grim severity. He nodded to Kanan, who promptly unclipped something from the back of his belt.

And Sabine's world ground to a halt.

 _No._

 _How can they?_

At first, she couldn't speak. She felt…numb…for the lack of a better word. Then, she felt anger. White, hot, and burning. How could they do this to her? Didn't they know she wanted nothing to do with her clan? With the people who spat on her and shit on her honor?

She jumped up from her seat, the sudden motion startling Ezra, and fixed everyone with a glare.

"No!" she declared, her nostrils flaring and her eyes wide with rage. "I won't do it!"

"Sabine…" Rau began before she cut him off.

"I said _no!"_ she snarled. "That karking saber has brought my family nothing but pain ever since Maul took it!"

Fenn just simply pressed on. "Sabine, Maul used it to conquer and divide our people. _You_ can wield it to do the opposite!"

Was he _serious?_

"Are you crazy?" she asked him, now beyond incredulous. " _Wield it_? If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever…"

"Consider what he has to say," Kanan cut her off, much to everyone's surprise. "I don't think it's a coincidence that this saber came into your possession, any more than it was with Robb and Theon re-discovering their home, or with you and Ezra finding your direwolves," he calmly advised, 'looking' pointedly at Runi and Storm, who had somehow picked up on the ambient mood and were unusually sullen. "Master Yoda once told me that 'nothing ever happens by accident'. It took me a long time to realize the truth of those words."

"Yeah, but, Kanan, that doesn't mean she can actually _fight_ with it," Ezra pointed out, before realizing his mistake. "No offense, Bean."

 _Too late,_ di'kut.

"Oh, no. Go on, Ez. I wanna hear this," she fixed her closest friend with a glare that could melt doonium. Despite the fact she liked him, by the _manda_ did his mouth run before his brain did, at times. Either that, or it was a calculated ploy to get her enraged. If that was the case, then mission karking accomplished.

Ezra sighed. "What I mean is, Sabine, is that it took me _years_ to get me to where I am now with a lightsaber, and as an aside, I use the Force."

"She might not be able to fight like a Jedi," Kanan cut in again, this time saving his apprentice from a potential, very much warranted smack in the face, "but she can definitely become proficient enough with the blade to fight with it."

"I already _am_ proficient, with several blades!" she protested, already knowing that Robb had probably adopted an incredulous smirk on his otherwise stoic face. "As well as blasters, and explosives, and even javelins. But that? That is a lightsaber!"

"The combat training is only secondary to what that blade represents," Rau reminded.

Sabine rolled her eyes. "Right, right, you want me to lead my clan, and eventually all of Mandalore! I don't know if you realize this, Fenn, but I'm not exactly the most popular woman in the hegemony right now, let alone my family."

"That can change," Rau reminded.

"No, it can't," She rebuked, turning her head to discontinue looking at them. "None of you know what you're talking about!"

"I do know that family is important to the Wrens," He offered, putting a firm, yet gentle hand on her shoulder. "Just like it is to all Mandalorians."

She roughly shoved his hand away. "I already have a family! _Here!_ In this castle! And my home is the _Ghost!_ I don't need _them_!" she yelled, turning away from all of them. Why was it that all the men could not understand? At least she had Hera on her side.

"But we do," Hera softly corrected, shattering the myth Sabine had built for herself. "If there is a chance you can rally an army of Mandalorians to our cause, I'm going to have to ask you to do it."

"Hera…," Sabine barely managed to squeak out, shocked at this sudden betrayal.

"Family history can be painful," Hera soothed. "Believe me, I know. But we need men for those ships, and we need those ships for our attack on Lothal."

Sabine couldn't believe it. Here was her surrogate family, asking her to just drop everything and return to try to lead her clan and people.

"Hera's right," Kanan declared. "We need to ask you to do this, but that doesn't mean you have to." He held out the saber, offering it to her. "You could always walk away and forget about it. We won't force you into this."

She turned and weighed the options. They were giving her a choice. She could always say 'no', and completely forget that her clan ever existed. But…Hera ultimately had the right of it. This was their last option. If she refused, she could very well doom the Rebellion, and she'd be a traitor twice over.

If nothing else, she would relish the chance to prove her mother wrong.

So, with a heavy heart, she turned back to Kanan and gripped the hilt of the Darksaber.

"Alright," she sighed, "I'll do it."

She tried to tug it away from him, yet he still held a firm grip on it. Confused, she looked at Kanan, and even though he wore his eye mask, she swore she could feel him staring right through her. It was kind of off-putting, to be honest.

"Once people know you have this," he warned, "you will be challenged."

She huffed. "Alright, I get it. I'll try my best."

It was now Ezra decided, for whatever god-damned reason, to try to give her advice. "First lesson, Sabine; don't try. Just learn," he offered, and it was made worse by that smirk of his.

Fortunately for both, before Sabine could yank the Darksaber away from Kanan and show her friend how _bad_ she really was, Zeb decided to put Ezra in his place.

"Ezra, you've heard the saying 'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned'? Well, I suggest if you want to keep breathing, you'd shut up and leave her the hell alone," he warned him.

 _Thanks, big guy._

"Regardless of how he put it, Ezra does have a point," Robb finally deigned to speak up. "You have to be committed to this."

Sabine sighed through her nostrils. "Ok."

* * *

They had decided to train in the courtyard, as it was wide, open, and free of anything they could really damage or maim with a lightsaber. Minimize the damage, if you will. Sabine frowned. Did Kanan not trust her with this? Did he really think her incompetent when it came to swordsmanship?

Currently, it was Kanan, Ezra, Robb, and Rau who had decided to supervise or help with her training on the weapon. Or, they would be…if Kanan had not decided to play it safe and regulate her to training with fake, wooden swords they found in the fortresses dusty old armory, and that had been the routine for days, now, as Hera, Zeb, and Chopper left the other day to continue the search.

Currently, she was sparring against Ezra, having already badly lost twice in a row to both Robb and Kanan, despite their constant drilling of her form, and especially despite her repeated training with Robb from months before.

It wasn't to say that there wasn't a noticeable improvement; already she felt her motions were more controlled, smooth, and precise, and less like "a butcher hacking at meat", as Robb oh-so-gently put it to her at one point. But it seemed that no matter how much she improved, her betters were five-to-ten steps ahead of her, as Ezra's irritating smirk proved. He was deftly parrying her attacks, daring her to let go of her emotional control and do something stupid.

"That's not going to work!" Kanan yelled out to her, as she tried to hammer away at Ezra's defenses.

She grunted in response. "Working well so far!" she lied. As much as she hated to admit it, Kanan was right- simply trying to overpower her best friend was not going to work.

Ezra's face softened for a second, going from smirking to softly smiling. "I think you're doing well, so far," he complimented and was promptly rewarded with a well-deserved punch to the shoulder.

"Opinion duly noted," She sarcastically swore, as she continued to press her assault. The more she wore on his nearly impenetrable defense, the more frustrated she became. Soon, Ezra wasn't even parrying anymore; he was just avoiding her blows.

She finally had enough.

Uttering a wordless cry, she leaped at Ezra, bringing down the blade at his head.

And he simply stepped out of the way.

The White Raven soon found herself eating the dirty ground of the courtyard, falling flat on her face. And when she turned around to get back up, Ezra was right there, with that stupid stick resting near her chin and that stupid grin plastered on his stupid face.

"You over-committed," Fenn observed dryly, to which Sabine huffed in irritated annoyance.

"Oh, thanks!" she sardonically thanked him, swatting away Ezra's blade.

"Let's take a break for now," Kanan offered, holding out his hands to both of them.

Sabine threw down her practice sword. Fine! It wasn't like she was getting better anyway! She walked away from Ezra, who was called over by Kanan to help him with something. Not before long, however, Rau walked over to where she was, carrying a container of some sort.

"I brought you something," he offered, a knowing smile on his face. "Consider it an apology for me partially getting you into this mess."

She scoffed. "Partially? How about _completely_?"

"And to make up for it," he deliberated, "you can have these." He opened the box up, revealing to Sabine something that she had always wanted.

Mandalorian vambraces.

"Where did you get these?" she breathed, eagerly putting them on. They perfectly fit her, she discovered.

"Light-shield, grappling line, darts, repulsor- all designed by our people, to combat the abilities of Force-users," He informed her and leaned in closer, smirking, and pointed in Ezra's direction. "Go knock down Bridger a peg or two. Wipe that smirk off his face."

Now it was her turn to smirk. Oh, she took it back. This was going to be fun.

She turned to face Ezra again, who had just got done talking to Kanan. He immediately eyed her vambraces. "Whatcha' got there, Bean?"

"More than you can handle!" she replied, brimming with newfound confidence.

Ezra grinned. "Alright, Bean. Well, if that's the case, I won't take it so easy on you this time."

The two opponents faced each other, saluting to begin the match. Ezra struck first, angling his blade high and bringing it down. Sabine parried the block and then did something that was _technically_ cheating.

She used the repulsor on Ezra.

Her best friend tumbled back a few yards, losing his balance, obviously caught off guard by the sudden blast. As he tried to regain his footing, the young warrior swept his legs out from underneath him, causing him to fall right on his behind. Sabine smirked, holding her 'sword' to her opponent's neck. "And that's your head!" she gloated in triumph, while Ezra stared at her with a mixture of blatant annoyance and a hint of amusement.

"Well, that's hardly fair! Where did you even get those?" he complained, to which she shrugged.

"Special delivery," She told him, intentionally keeping it vague. He was smart- he'd figure it out sooner or later.

" _HEY_!" Kanan snapped at her, causing her to turn around and see an angry, blind, and scraggly Force-sensitive come stomping over to her. "You think this is some sort of game?"

Sabine grinned at him, her confidence running on high. "Not playing," she corrected, "just…outsmarting my opponent." Her grin turned predatory. "Care to take a shot?"

Without warning anybody, she activated her grappling line. The energized cord wrapped itself around the surprised Jedi Knight, and Sabine began tugging.

And tugging.

And tugging.

But Kanan did not budge.

Not even an inch.

Instead, he appeared to tire of her insolence, and, activated his lightsaber, cut the cord in half, pulling her down and towards him in the process. She hit the back of her head and saw stars for a few, fleeting moments. And when she regained her senses, she found a blazing blue blade next to her throat.

And for the first time in her life, Sabine was genuinely afraid that Kanan would kill her.

"Here's a history lesson for you!" Kanan seethed at her. "The Mandalorians _lost_ the war against the Jedi. Sure, these tricks could amount to _something_ , even help you from time to time, but they will never keep you alive in the long run! Only training and discipline will do that!" he accentuated, deactivating his blade, and letting her stand up.

So, that was it, then. He didn't trust her.

At all.

With anything.

Just like _her_.

Only offering her criticisms and lectures, never praise or words of comfort.

Well, no more.

"The only thing I'm learning," she began, her voice quivering at first, but steadily gaining steam and fury, "is that Ezra must be _really_ gifted to learn as well as he has from a lousy teacher like _YOU!_ " She screamed at him, throwing her sword on the dirty floor of the courtyard and stomping off, leaving behind her so-called friends in a wake of confusion and sorrow.

* * *

She didn't know how long she wandered aimlessly in the godswood. Frankly, she didn't care. All that was left to her was her churning thoughts of her former home, of her old family. She had even left her direwolf with Robb to be alone for a bit.

What was she thinking? She couldn't wield the Darksaber, not like Ezra and Kanan could. She couldn't fight with a sword, not like Robb could. And she certainly could never lead or inspire men the way Hera could.

Her mother was right. All she was is a traitor, a turncoat. A woman without honor or soul. She had let her uncle die right in front of her, after all- killed by the weapon she designed, all at the will of the sadistic headmaster of the Imperial Academy. And instead of doing the honorable thing and seeking vengeance, she decided to announce what had happened to everyone in the hegemony and fled with Ketsu the first moment she got. So why should she care about anything? No one cared about her, after all!

 _Ezra does. You know it. Let him in._

She shut her eyes, as she came to sit on a tree stump to look over at the heart tree nearby. No, she could never let him in. Not when the people she trusted most ended up betraying her.

"Sabine?" a familiar, somber voice spoke up from behind her. She didn't even need to turn to see who it was.

"Not now, Ezra." she half-heartedly attempted to warn away, despite knowing her dear friend wouldn't dare do such a thing.

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, for both me and Kanan." he apologized, maintaining his distance from her, yet it seemed to her that emotionally he was inching his way closer to her. "I've been what Robb calls a 'right royal prick' to you this past couple of days when you never deserved that. And I know how hard it is learning under Kanan. Believe me, I do. But you should trust me when I say that he means well, because…he really does."

Sabine scoffed. "Does he? Do any of them?" she sighed, then stood up. "Look, I know how to fight, and I know that I can wield that blade. I just don't want everything that goes along with it."

"You mean your family?" he asked though it sounded more like a realization on his part. She finally turned to look at him. His eyes were filled with inviting warmth, and a plea to understand her.

"I'm a disgrace to them, Ezra," she admitted as her mother's scathing last words towards her echoed through her mind, "a traitor and an oath-breaker!"

He shook his head. "But you know that's not true, Bean. You are probably the most loyal and courageous person I've known."

 _You don't know how much that's not true._

"To them, it is!" she countered. "You don't know!" Her voice became a whisper. "No one does."

Ezra looked at her with great sorrow in his blue eyes, and something else. What was it? Love?

"I don't want to talk about these things!" she accidentally snapped at him, though it was more directed towards herself. "How can I go back there and face them? How can I possibly lead my people?"

Ezra hooded his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sabine," he apologized and turned, but not before offering her some advice. "Just know that… unlike Robb, or Kanan, or Zeb, or me, you at least have someone to go back to." With that hard truth, he turned and left, leaving Sabine alone once again in the godswood.

"Ezra..." she tried to call, just now realizing how much she had hurt her friend with her self-centered rant. She kicked the stump she had been sitting on, cursing her stupidity and short-sightedness, and sauntered off again, heading towards the heart tree- to pray, to clear her head, anything to take her mind off of the Darksaber and Ursa.

"He's right, you know," Robb's stoic voice called out to her from the other side of the heart tree, next to the pool.

"Come again?" she asked him, walking over to where he was. He was kneeling in a meditative stance, his eyes closed and his sword laid out before him. Besides him was Runi, who immediately jumped up and ran over to her mistress, happily wagging her tail and barking. She knelt to pet her direwolf and was responded with a few ticklish licks to the cheek.

"Ezra's right," he repeated himself, opening his eyes and facing her. "You're acting like me right now."

She eyed him warily. "Explain."

Robb sighed. "Your shutting everyone out when they only try to help you, for one. Two, you've been doing almost nothing these past few days but mope about and feel sorry for yourself. You blame yourself for circumstances that were outside your control. And finally, your anger and frustration are causing you to lash out at everyone!" Robb fixed her with a stare that seemed to pass right through her. "Sabine, I don't know if you realize this, but before I met all of you, I had given up all hope. Sure, I was ambushing Imperials and helping protect the odd village here and there, but that was because I didn't know how to do anything else. If anything, I was only going through the motions; I was only doing it because the Empire reminded me of the men who took everything from me, and in my heart, I still had a burning need for revenge," he said as he stood up to face her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "The hope you and Ezra gave me saved my life. You taught me that there was still some good left in this world- good that was worth fighting for." He stared her right in the eyes, steel blue connecting with copper brown. "I want you to do something for me; don't ever, _ever_ , be what I was, broken and bitter and angry. Be better than that. Be a better person than me."

With that, Robb stood up to walk back to the courtyard, but before he could, Sabine stopped him.

"Wait! I just wanted to ask you…" she paused, trying to convey the right words. "Back on Dathomir, you said you had another vision, after the one you had about Obi-Wan. What was it?"

Robb nodded, and sat back down, encouraging Sabine to sit next to him. She decided to oblige him.

"It was of your home, and of your mother," he informed. "She was praying to the great oak tree in your courtyard, asking your god for advice."

"Advice on what?" she asked him, eager despite not knowing why.

He sighed. "I think…I think she wanted the _manda_ to forgive her for banishing you, and for you to find your way back to them again. She was regretful siding with the Empire, only doing so because if she hadn't, your father and your brother would be put to death by Gar Saxon."

She felt tears running down her cheek. "Then why did she call me what she did? Why did she believe what Saxon and the Imperials told her?"

Robb shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "There are things I still have to understand, as well. Demons I must eventually face on my own terms- one of them being my past."

"Theon?" she asked.

He nodded. "Aye, but I can worry about that later. Right now, we need to get you back to your training." He patted her shoulder. "I think Kanan's cooled off by now, as well."

She nodded, not quite feeling confident, but getting there. "Alright."

* * *

It was late by the time they got back to the courtyard. Nighttime, really, as the sky had become black, punctured by an endless sea of stars, the milky blue band of the galaxy, and the white-gray moon of Valaryos, which was in its full phase tonight, but that's not what was on everyone's mind right now.

Ezra noticed her first, giving her an encouraging smile, which she returned. Rau was next, nodding to her. And finally, there was Kanan.

His eye-mask had been taken off, revealing his sightless, white eyes. He was currently in the middle of the courtyard, 'staring' at a very familiar looking object. She walked over to him, her arms crossed beneath her breastplate, partially to keep warm, and partially because she was still unsure.

He finally looked up at her. "I owe you an apology," he said, glancing back down at the Darksaber.

"I can say the same," she agreed. Her mentor knelt, and picked up the blade, turning to hand it to her. She frowned. Was this a test? Was she truly ready? "Maybe I should continue practicing with the wooden sword," she offered. There was no way she was ready.

"Take it," Kanan insisted. "It's yours."

Sabine was shocked.

He trusted her, after all.

True trust.

With newfound respect for their leader, she took the sword in her hands. It felt ancient, battle-worn, but at the same time, as familiar as an old friend. And…she felt something. A connection with the blade, like it was destined to be hers.

"Ignite the blade," Kanan encouraged. Sabine did as he asked, and pressed the ignition switch. The blade sprung to life, a brilliant black falchion tinged with white cracks that danced along the surface, as the sword seemed to drink in the light around it with an unquenchable thirst.

And it seemed to weigh in her hands.

"It's a bit heavier than I thought," she pointed out, as she tested the sword out, waving it this way and that.

"Energy is constantly flowing through the crystal," Kanan explained to her. "You aren't fighting with a simple blade as much as you are directing a current of power. Your thoughts, your actions, they become energy. They flow through the crystal as well, and become a part of the blade," He took out his own saber and ignited it, saluting her and going into what Ezra called a 'Makashi' stance. "The blades will be drawn to each other."

She nodded, and readied herself, taking deep, calming breaths.

"Block high!" he commanded, striking from overhead. Sabine reacted immediately, catching Kanan's blue blade in the air, the two swords crackling and discoursing electricity upon contact.

"There's pull," Kanan lectured. "Can you feel it?"

Sabine nodded, keeping her eyes on him.

"That blade is old, heavy, but powerful. Respect its strength," he advised and disengaged.

"Low!" he barked, and swung his blade at her legs. Again, she blocked, and again, the blades sparked and cracked.

"Middle!" he ordered, and Sabine parried a swipe aimed at her midsection.

"High! Middle! Low! Middle!" Kanan fired off rapidly as he swung his blade at her. Again, and again, she blocked the blade almost without effort.

"Good!" Kanan complimented, disengaging and backing off to his original position. "Let's work on a series."

The two duelists stared at each other from across the courtyard, saluting each other as they did so.

"Remember the forms we taught you," he reminded her gently. She nodded at him, and the dance commenced. "Take ready position; we'll start slow."

"One," he struck at her. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six."

Again and again, the Jedi swung at her, and again and again, she blocked each strike.

"Good. Now faster!" Kanan commanded. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six!" he barked out, increasing the frequency of his swings and decreasing the time he gave Sabine to react. Sabine was still managing to block the strikes, but just barely.

The next set was even faster.

"One, two, three, four, five, six!" Kanan swung his blade with an increased speed and agility. Sabine was now struggling to keep up. On the last strike, she lost her balance and fell straight onto her back.

"You're making this easy on me," Kanan chastised, disappointment seeping through his voice. She narrowed her eyes and got back up on her feet.

"Ready position," He commanded. He swung his saber at the same speed. This time, Sabine could predict his movements, blocking the swings with little effort, becoming used to the weight of the sword in her hands.

"The blade feels lighter, now," She observed.

Kanan nodded. "You're connecting with it. It's becoming a part of you."

They engaged blades again, and although Sabine could reasonably hold her ground for a bit longer, it was clear who had the upper hand.

"But you cannot solely rely on the blade," Kanan warned. "You must use all her skills together."

They clashed again, and Kanan soon capitalized on a mistake Sabine made, catching her blade and sending it flying out of her grasp.

"You'll have to do better," He sighed.

Sabine glared at him, then activated her grappling line, grabbing the blade and sending it back into her waiting hands. She engaged Kanan again with an unmatched fervor, but by now he was simply redirecting her blows much as Ezra had done earlier. Kanan caught her blade again and pushed her back, sending her sprawling on the ground.

Right on to her blade, which deactivated as it cut through her vambrace, burning her wrist and causing her to writhe in agony, as she screamed in pain. And Kanan… didn't ask her if she was hurt.

Didn't stop the fight.

He only lectured her.

"You aren't fighting me; you're fighting yourself," he rebuked, his voice stern and void of compassion, "and losing."

Sabine shot her head up in rage. Ignoring the dulling pain in her wrist, she grabbed her saber and began to swing wildly at Kanan, who just mockingly dodged every blow, not even bothering to activate his own saber.

"You're not committed to this," he mocked. "You should quit."

"I don't quit!" she snarled. "I _never_ quit!"

"Really?" Kanan chuckled, his tone one of disbelief. "Because that's not what it looks like. You did run, didn't you?"

"No!" she rebuked. What does he know of her? She ran straight at him, intent on stabbing him. The older Jedi just sidestepped out of the way and grabbed on to her wrist, securing it in a vice-like grip.

"But that's what your people believe, isn't it?" he asked her. Sabine responded by grunting and twisting out of his grip, somersaulting in the air while doing it. She landed back on her feet, and resumed her desperate offensive against him, starting to force him back across the courtyard.

"You ran from the Empire, you ran from your family…" Kanan began mocking her again, still dodging her wild, erratic, emotion-filled swings, but this time she wouldn't let him speak his heresy.

"Lies!" she shouted. This time, Kanan activated his saber just as Sabine struck at him, and asked her the question that everyone in the crew wanted to know.

" _ **SO, WHAT'S THE TRUTH?"**_

So, he wanted to hear the truth, was that it? Fine, she'll give him the truth!

"The truth…is that…I left to save everyone!" she finally admitted, for everyone to hear. "My mother! My father! My brother! Everything I did was for my family! For Mandalore!" she screamed, driving Kanan back further and further, as the latter was putting up an increasingly stressed defense against her onslaught.

"I built weapons!" she admitted, the memories of her terrible arc caster flooding back in. "Terrible weapons! And the Empire used them on Mandalore! On friends, on _family!_ People that I knew!" She told them, her uncle's agonized, disintegrating face coming back to haunt her. "They controlled us through fear," she gave out a pain-filled, mirthless laugh, as the guilt came pouring out. "Mandalore! They fear the weapon I helped create! I HELPED ENSLAVE MY PEOPLE!"

She forced Kanan back further, towards the wall that separated the courtyard from the godswood. "I wanted to stop it! I _had_ to stop it! I spoke out! To save them! To save _everyone_!" she yelled. With that, Sabine delivered a powerful kick to Kanan's gut, sending the Jedi Knight sprawling, his back hitting the wall. She came to stand over the Jedi, her blade ready to strike.

"But when I did…" she trailed off, her mother's scornful gaze as she declared her own daughter a _dar'manda_ returned to the forefront. The tears began to well up in her eyes. "My family didn't stand with me," she admitted to everyone, as she lowered her blade and deactivated it. "They sided with the Empire and left me. They gave me no choice," Her voice broke as she collapsed to her knees, as Kanan brought himself up to his. "The Empire wanted to destroy worlds, and they did. They destroyed mine."

She could no longer contain the emotion and wept bitterly. Why? Why did things have to be this way?

Why did her mother side with evil itself over her own daughter?

She felt a gentle hand touch her pauldron, and she looked up, teary-eyed, to see Kanan, his sightless gaze filled with sympathy and understanding.

"The Empire rules through fear, and not everyone can be as strong as you've been. Your family is in a prison, one of their own making. It's up to you to help them break out of it."

Sabine stood, her legs shaky from grief, as she crossed her arms and looked around the area in despondency.

"But how? Why would they follow me? Why would they listen to an oath-breaker?" she asked in desperation.

"I know this is not what you probably want to hear," Fenn spoke, as he, Ezra, and Robb approached her. "But for the record, I would follow you, into the nine Corellian hells and back." At this, he bent his knee for her, bowing before her and declaring her his liege lady.

"So would I," Ezra declared, his tone grim and serious. "And I mean it."

Her heart skipped a few beats. Ezra, her brother, her best friend, her _something more_ , was kneeling before her, declaring her loyalty to her.

"At last, I think we understand one another completely, Sabine," Robb spoke up, his voice solemn and sympathetic. He drew his sword and knelt. "If you would have me, I would swear my sword to your service, from this night, until the last night."

"You've come a long way in a short amount of time," Kanan complimented. "And know that no matter what path you chose, _this_ family will stand by you, now and always."

Sabine looked around her as they all knelt before her, as Runi and Storm howled their approval to the moon, like bannermen kneeling before their queen.

Their Queen in the North.

* * *

 **A/N: Longest chapter EVAR…complete!**

 **Yeah, sorry about the length, but it was necessary. So, Sabine has finally embraced her destiny and accepted the Darksaber and the responsibilities that it carries.**

 **Trying to keep Ezra and Sabine's relationship growing at a steady pace is, admittedly, difficult. You want to skip straight ahead to the kissing and…other…things, but you must keep it slow and steady.**

 **For Robb's heart to heart with Sabine, I was inspired by two things; Samurai Jack and the trailer for the new Spiderman movie. I wanted to show just how much of an impact Sabine and Ezra have had on Robb, and that he doesn't want to see either of them turning into what he became.**

 **Until next time!**


	21. Robb V

Dawn had come early to Winterfell, and Robb woke up to a familiar sound; that of a direwolf's howl, and for a moment, he thought it to be either his own or one of his siblings' before he realized that it was most likely either Runi or Storm that was howling.

He sighed in contentment as he rose out of bed. He was finally back home, after all these years. He almost wished he could stay here for the rest of his days. Then, he soured. He knew for what purpose they were here; to retrieve the Katana Fleet. Once that task was complete, they'd likely have to head back to Atollon, and to be honest, his home was now the Ghost. Perhaps, though, once this war was over, he and some of his friends could resettle here, start a new colony, and rebuild this once great land to its former glory.

That is…if they won. If they lost, then he'd be returned to the grave, by the way of the gun or by the way of the noose.

He quickly set about his tasks; trimming his beard, cleaning himself down, putting on his armor, and then headed out of his room and down the stairs, towards the courtyard.

He thought over the events of the other day as he was making his way down. The release of what had been eating away had Sabine had been largely beneficial. For the most part, she was back to her witty, artistic self, though she was now carrying an air of maturity around her, and he had noted that she was taking her saber training with Ezra and Kanan far more seriously.

When he finally got down there, he found the two young adults, as well as Kanan and Rau, waiting for him, a bunch of dull, metal practice swords already on the rack and ready for use.

Kanan 'looked' at him, and nodded. "Robb. Good to see you're up."

Robb walked up to him and took his arm into his own, smiling at the blind Jedi Knight. "Likewise, Kanan," he complimented. He looked over at Ezra and Sabine, who were off in their respective corners, warming up before the training commenced.

And occasionally- just, ever so slightly- the two would exchange glances at one another, looking away when the other looked back.

 _Yes, Sabine_ , Robb sardonically thought, _there is_ nothing _romantic going on between you two._

"You notice it, too, huh?" Kanan spoke up, though his voice was lowered as to not alert the two younger ones.

Robb nodded. "Aye. It's kind of hard not to. Good luck getting them to admit to it, anyway," he joked, as the two began to spar. It became immediately apparent to him, and Kanan, he suspected, that the two were soon not moving as two, but as one, their movements becoming more and more synchronized, like dancers who knew each other intimately. Robb immediately began to analyze their fighting styles, as well as their personalities.

Sabine was obvious. She was the very definition of fire; wild, passionate, and free, and the way she fought reflected that. She would try to keep her opponent off guard, be unpredictable in her movements.

Ezra was a bit more difficult to nail down, personality wise, but he would have to say that he reminded him of air- when he was at peace, that was. Always leaving an impression, resonating with whomever he spoke to. When he was in battle, Ezra became the storm, furious and unrelenting, light and darkness in equal measure.

And, as it turned out, air always fueled a fire, and fire itself could create a storm if it blazed hot enough.

The two continued their dance, and although it seemed that Ezra was still the superior swordsman, it also seemed that Sabine was doing far better than she was doing days earlier, keeping up with the Padawan and countering his every move- though, he supposed, Ezra was still probably holding back. On and on it went, neither gaining an advantage over another.

And then, it ended.

Sabine, deciding on a gamble, swept Ezra's legs with a sweeping kick. However, the boy had no intention of losing, and so as he was falling, he grabbed onto the Mandalorian warrior, sending both tumbling onto the ground, putting them both in a rather…awkward position.

Sabine had ended up on top, straddling Ezra right below his waist. The faces of the two young warriors were literally inches apart, staring into each other's eyes, and the only sound that could be heard was the heavy, labored breathing coming from them both.

Well, that, and the howling of the direwolves, as if their pets were approving of this.

Several long, amusingly embarrassing moments passed before they both broke contact and started to stammer out apologies to one another.

"Sabine! I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to…"

"No! No! It wasn't your fault, it was…"

Robb decided at that moment to cough, loudly, getting the attention of the two 'not-lovers', who quickly turned away, both of their faces turning a deep shade of crimson.

"Alright, I think that's enough practice for you two," Kanan spoke up before Robb could embarrass them any further. The duo of young warriors looked immensely grateful and skedaddled out of there as fast as they could, their wolves close in tow.

The Lord of Winterfell turned towards the blind Jedi. "Well, that was…something else."

"Yeah…it was." Kanan mused. Robb had to venture a guess that while the knight was not able to see it, he could feel the emotions those two emanated.

"How long has this been going on," Robb pointed to the spot where Ezra and Sabine had been sparring, although he realized Kanan probably wouldn't see it. "This…thing…between them?"

Kanan sighed. "With Ezra? Probably ever since he laid eyes on her, honestly. Back then, it was nothing more than a simple crush, as he was _only_ trying to flirt with her. And honestly, everyone- including myself- thought he would grow out of it."

"But he hasn't," Robb observed.

Kanan shook his head. "If anything, his feelings for her have only gotten stronger over time- he's just better at controlling them now. But every once and a while, he lets his guard slip, and I can feel just how strongly he cares for her."

"And Sabine?" Robb asked.

"Well, she's a bit trickier," Kanan answered and rubbed his beard. "Initially, she didn't feel anything for Ezra. If anything, I'd say she was almost hostile to him. Not in the way Zeb was, mind you, but she'd often give him the cold shoulder, and complain to Hera and I that he was nothing more than a cocky, up-jumped beggar who had no place here. Come to think of it, you shared almost the exact same opinion of him when you first came on board."

Robb nodded. "Aye. He's not exactly good at making first impressions. But, then again, I wasn't exactly the most grateful type back then," he admitted. It seemed foolish, to look back on it, now. How could he have been so cold, so self-centered, so _callous_? He had a new, warm, inviting family right in front of him, and all he could think of his was his past.

"No, you really weren't," Kanan agreed. "But that's beside the point," He scratched his beard again. "I'd have to say that her feelings for him grew steadily over time. I must say, though, that it was only really after their mission to Concord Dawn did I feel anything concrete from her. Ever since then, it's only become stronger."

Robb nodded, then felt his face sour. "This comes at a difficult time, though. Sabine is to lead her people, and if Mandalorian customs are anything like my people's, I wouldn't doubt some powerful count later down the line will have a marriage proposal for her in exchange for ships and troops," He warned Kanan. He thought back to his own broken promise to Walder Frey. How much would have changed had he kept his word? Now, he would never regret the time he spent with Talisa- he would always cherish her memory with a smile, but death and time had taught him that most times, the needs of the kingdom outweighed the wants of the king. "Besides," he continued, "I thought the Jedi had some rule against marriage."

"They did," Kanan affirmed. "But the old order is gone, and frankly not all traditions were meant to be kept. Here I am with Hera, after all," he paused, thinking of something, before continuing. "Besides, one of our core tenants is to 'live in the moment'. If we are too fixated on what _might_ be or regret what once was, we'd never be able to enjoy what we have right now. I think somewhere along the way, my order had forgotten that, and ultimately paid the price for it."

Robb nodded, before motioning to the rack. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way, do you want to start with the basics, or go right to sparring?"

Kanan looked as if he were about to answer, only to be interrupted by the beeping of his commlink. The blind Jedi picked up the device.

"Go ahead, dear," he answered. Robb could never understand the abilities of true Force-sensitives, such as knowing instinctively who was at the other end of a communication line. In this case, he couldn't figure out how Kanan automatically knew it was Hera at the other end.

" _Well, love, I've got good news and other news. Good news is that we're one step closer to finding the fleet, which Theon has triangulated to an area about ten clicks east of Dragonstone."_

"And the other news?"

That _other_ news ended up souring Robb's mood.

There was a bit of silence at the end of the line before Hera resumed speaking. _"Theon wants to come to Winterfell and talk to Robb. He says he's got quite a few things that he needs to get off his chest, things Robb needs to understand, and that they should meet in the crypts."_

Robb snorted. What was there to possibly understand? Theon had sworn to him that he would forever be his brother and right hand. He had given Theon his love and trust, and the whoreson repaid that trust with the blood of Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick and the conquest of their boyhood home. And why meet in the crypts, of all places?

"Understood, Specter One. I'll be sure to tell Robb. Two, out," Kanan sighed into the comm, before turning it off.

"Don't have to," Robb began, as he began to steel his own voice. "I've heard everything. Now, tell me, is there any good reason I should have to listen to what that sorry son of a bitch has to say?"

Kanan crossed his arms. "Because I think this might help you find balance, and put the past behind you."

Robb snorted. "Balance? In case you haven't noticed, Kanan, I'm not like you or Ezra. I'm not a Jedi. And put the past behind me? What the flying fuck do you think I've been trying to do?"

The blind knight corrected him. "Balance isn't just a Jedi thing, Robb, and while you may have tried to move on from your sordid past, there is one thing holding you back, and that's the animosity you hold towards Theon and everyone else who did you wrong."

Robb sighed. "Do you know what it's like to grow up with a man you call brother? To sup at the same table with him, laugh with him, play with him? To see him proudly declare you his liege from this day until your last days? And then, hear about how he betrayed you? That he took your boyhood home by force and put many of the people you also grew up with to the sword? That he murdered your brothers and burnt your castle to the ground?"

Kanan shook his head. "No. But I do know what it's like to be betrayed by those you call family, as does Hera and Sabine, as you know. It took me a long time to forgive Rex and the rest of the clones for that, and even now, the events of that day still give me nightmares," he admitted. "But I came to realize that Rex was not the same man who gunned down my master, and from all my talks with Theon, I can sense no deceit or ill will from him. He genuinely seems a changed man from what you described him; humble instead of arrogant, and calm instead of impulsive," he offered and scratched his beard for what seemed the umpteenth time. "What I guess I'm saying is…give him a chance. Let him explain what happened, and decide from there whether you want to forgive him or not."

Robb sighed, still unsure about this. "Alright. Fine. I can make no guarantees, though."

Kanan beamed at him a grin of reassurance and then left, leaving Robb alone to wait for the inevitable confrontation.

He only had to wait a couple hours…

* * *

The crypts of Winterfell were a solemn place.

It was here that the old Kings of Winter, and later Wardens of the North, were buried, going back all the way to Brandon the Builder. Robb, however, had seldom traveled to the very bottom of these crypts, and in the times he had, it was never alone. It was rather easy to get lost in these tunnels, after all, and the roots of Winterfell ran deep.

As he made his way down, past the generations of unknown Starks who had come after him, he could make out a faint, soft yellow light in the distance.

Candlelight.

 _Theon_.

The former king walked to where the source of the light was coming from, and soon enough, he found it.

Theon was standing in front of a statue, carved in the eerie likeness of his lord father, Eddard Stark, and around the statue of old Ned where similar sculptures, each representing a departed brother or sister. There was Jon, who clasped a burning sword in his hand. Right next to him was Sansa, then Arya, and Rickon…

And himself.

It is a queer thing, to stare at your own grave, knowing that you aren't buried in it, yet, at the same time, knowing that you did indeed die and come back. He stared at his stone facsimile for quite some time, scarcely believing that it was his bones buried in the crypt, his body rotted away in the earth.

"They never recovered your body," Theon spoke up in a solemn tone as if answering Robb's unspoken question. "They…we…constructed a tomb for you, yet we lay no one in it." His voice was lined with deep regret and pain.

Robb sighed, fully turning to Theon. "Why did you bring me down here, turncloak? What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Theon continued to stare at Lord Eddard's statue, as if asking the long-dead Warden for advice, before turning and facing his former friend. "I need to tell you why I betrayed you," he admitted. "I know that I don't deserve forgiveness- I've done too much for that. I just want you to understand why I did what I did."

Robb was silent, at first. Why would he _want_ to understand? What could the traitor possibly have to say to make him see his side of the story? Regardless, though, he nodded his ascent, if only to entertain himself.

Theon stared off into the black tunnel as if retrieving some distant memory from the inky darkness, before facing Robb once more.

"When I got to Pyke," he began, "my only aim was to make you proud; to prove to you and my lord father that I had what it took. That I was a capable warrior to the ironborn and a loyal brother to you. When I stepped into my old home, the one I had not seen in nine, long years, I saw my father, waiting for me in the solar, facing the fireplace," He stuttered as if reliving some bitter memory. "Do you know what the first thing he said to me when he saw me was, Robb? It wasn't 'my son, I'm glad to see you'. It wasn't even 'Theon, it's been so long,'" he spat. "He took one look at me and asked, 'the gold price or the iron?'"

Robb remained silent as Theon continued to rant.

"Me. His only living son and he didn't even consider me family. None of them did," he shook his head. "To my blood family, I had spent far too much time among the Greenlanders to ever be considered a proper ironborn. Then, my father told me of his plan to invade the North. He had been planning it ever since Lord Eddard died, Robb; he never intended to accept your offer of alliance, for he reminded me of our house words. We do not sow, and that he would pay the iron price for his crown."

"And so, you followed the stubborn old fool," Robb growled.

"What was I to do, Robb?" Theon asked. "It was forbidden by the customs of our people to slay another ironborn, let alone one of your own blood! At first, I wanted to warn you about what was going to happen. But as I sat in my old room, my thoughts stirred, and conversations we had played in my head," he sighed. "I remembered being constantly reminded by everyone in Winterfell, including you, that I was only an outsider, an _honored guest_ of the great lord, Eddard Stark. That at any time, he would have taken my head if Balon rebelled against him and Robert. Seven hells, Robb, Jon was better treated by your mother than I was!" he shouted, then paused to catch his breath. "My blood family blackmailing me emotionally didn't help matters either."

"So, that's why you did it?" Robb seethed. "You wanted to fit in with the ironborn? A culture of reavers, rapers, and murderers?"

Theon rolled his eyes. "Yes, Robb. A culture of raiders and thieves. But it was my _homeland_. Do you even know why we did that? It wasn't for fun, Robb- it was a matter of _survival_. No one on the mainland wanted to trade with us. 'A barren shit-stained pile of rocks', as they oh-so-gently put it. We were left with no choice in the damned matter! And please, spare me your lectures about how noble the North was in the conduct of war. Tell me, did Lord Bolton neglect to mention what his boys were doing in the Crownlands? How his troops- many of them Hornwood and Glover men- were burning septs and raping septas? How more than a few northerners lynched tavern girls simply for laying with Lannister men?"

Robb fell silent at that revelation. His own army was doing these things? He expressly forbade such acts against the common folk!

"Why? My rebellion was never supposed to harm the south. All I wanted was independence and justice." Robb tried to defend, to which Theon shook his head.

"So did my father, Robb. Maybe that was the problem, though. Everyone- you, me, Joffrey, the Lannisters. All of Westeros was obsessed with power and revenge," he spoke and looked at the statue of Jon. "The only one of us who saw things clearly was Jon. Only he saw that revenge and power plays for that damned pointy chair were worthless, that the only war that mattered was the one between the realms of men and the things that would see the realms destroyed. All the rest of us could think of was our rights, when he was the only one thinking of our duty; to serve the realm," he sighed sadly. "Maybe if we had listened to him and the Watch much earlier, Westeros wouldn't have lost half its population." He turned to face Robb again. "I…I have to get back to Dragonstone. We're close to finding the fleet. It should only be a day more, and then I'll get out of your hair."

Robb only nodded numbly, staying silent as Theon moved past him, out of the crypts. Several, bitter moments passed by, and during those moments, his thoughts churned. In his youth, he thought he was doing the right thing- achieving independence for his people and justice for his father. He had thought his dark path had only started with his resurrection.

Had he been wrong?

Was his cause just as ignoble and treacherous as the men he had fought?

Was he now repeating the same mistake, allying with the Rebellion?

He sat down in a frustrated, confused huff, burying his head in his palms. All he had now were more questions, and he was no closer to the answer he sought.

As if sensing his dark, brooding thoughts, the dimly lit crypts were suddenly brightened by a floating, otherworldly, glowing orb, bathed in radiant gold. It was as if a main-sequence star had somehow shrunk itself to the size of a hand-ball and found its way into the tombs of the Starks.

" _Greetings, Robb of House Stark,_ " the orb greeted him formally. Its voice was feminine and soft, yet at the same time wise and ethereal. " _You seem troubled, my lord._ "

Robb scoffed. "Troubled? Try 'thrown into a maelstrom'." He sighed. He didn't know what compelled him to be honest with this…thing…but something in his gut told him he could trust it.

" _You are upset with your friend._ " It observed calmly.

"'Friend' is a pretty strong word," Robb muttered bitterly. "He betrayed me years ago, and killed many people that I knew and respected when he invaded our home, not to mention he butchered two farm boys and burned their bodies to fool the world into believing that he had killed my brothers.

" _I see,_ " the orb stated with simplicity. " _And yet, I can sense he's changed from what you've described him. He's now humble, calm, and rational. What's more, he seems to be genuinely sorry for his crimes against you._ "

"I wish I can believe that," Robb ran his hand through his hair. "Who are you, anyway.

" _A guide,_ " the mysterious being simply stated. " _There is something I must show you, Robb Stark. Come and see._ "

The orb started to float away towards the exit, and after a moment of consideration, Robb reluctantly followed.

* * *

He had almost forgotten what a dark and mysterious place the Wolfswood could be. The canopies of the great oak and pine trees almost entirely blocked out sunlight during the spring and winter months, shrouding the forest floor in shadow. He could hear the rustling of the plants and the scampering of beasts as he trekked through the dimly lit forest, with only the strange orb as his guide.

"How much further?" he asked as he brushed yet another stray branch from his face.

" _Not far,_ " it replied. " _You've been in these woods before, yes?_ "

"Aye," he answered. "We used to hunt game here all the time, my family and I." He had fond memories of going on the hunt with Jon and Theon, the way they would work together like a pack and hunt down boar, elk, or even hares in these woods, the thrill of the chase, and the immense satisfaction of the kill, and the full feeling they had in their stomachs after a supper of freshly prepared venison or pork.

He also remembered, with great sadness, that there were cotters, foresters, and hunters who lived in these woods, all of whom were sworn to either the Starks directly or the Glovers of Deepwood Motte. Now, due to whatever had happened in the past, the sounds of woodmen plying their trade had fallen silent.

The rest of the journey remained quiet, and soon enough, they had arrived at the destination- a large, man-made cavern, beneath the base of a small hill, opening like a gaping maw into a black abyss.

And Robb felt _cold_.

Now, this wasn't like the cold you felt on a winter's morn, nor was it the cold you felt after stepping out of a hot shower into a cool room. This cold was…evil, wrong, _unnatural_. It was as if the very warmth of his blood was stolen away.

"What is this place?" he asked the orb. "I have trekked through these woods numerous times, and I've never encountered anything like it."

" _It is a cave, created in secret by cultists dedicated to Bogan, the Dark Side of the Force_ ," the orb of light explained. " _Here, they would sacrifice captured prisoners to the darkness, hoping for powers of their own. Over time, the foul acts here permeated this place, and it now serves as a domain of evil_ ," the orb elaborated, then suddenly glowed brighter. " _You must go in._ "

Robb stopped in his tracks for a moment. Go in there, to a place of obvious malice? The orb was either crazy or trying to deceive him.

"And why must I go in?" he asked the orb.

" _You are still unbalanced, Robb of House Stark,_ " it explained to him. " _The cave will act as a proving ground for you, to see if you are capable of moving beyond your tragic past._ "

He looked back into the cave. Its darkness seemed to call to him, beckoning him into it's wide, gaping maw.

"What's in there?" he asked the orb as he peered into the abyss, halfway expecting the darkness to peer back at him.

"Only what you take with you," the ball of light cryptically answered, then faded away, leaving behind a confused and frustrated Robb.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath as he stepped into the wide mouth of the cavern. Almost immediately, the darkness swallowed him, and he found himself blindly walking forward.

He was really wishing he was wearing his helmet right about now.

As he continued to stumble forward, he noticed a dim, red light up ahead, glowing like hellfire in the abyss.

 _ **Why does thou cometh here?**_

A voice, deep and powerful, sounded from the source of the red fire as if the cavern itself had a voice.

 _ **Perhaps you seek thy death? Mortal fool of flesh and blood, does thou not knoweth of oblivion when thou see it?**_

Robb said nothing to the voice, finally coming to the source of the glow; a blazing red fire that seemed to pulsate like a heart.

 _ **Ah,**_ the fire realized, _**thou**_ **do** _ **know of death's deep, cold slumber. Mayhaps thou seeketh to return to her embrace?**_

The Grey Wolf drew his blade, on edge against this malevolent entity. "Who are you?" He asked the fire, as he held his sword in front of him.

The fire heckled at him, it's dark laughter reverberating off the cavern walls. _**You are a myopic fool**_ , it spat. _**Do you truly not know me?**_

At that, the fire's form started to twist and turn, forming into the shape of a man. A guttural, ear-splitting scream was emitted from it, as it started to form blackened, charred skin all over its form. Finally, it formed a face, shadowed and cindered.

It was his own.

"What kind of madness is this?" Robb yelled at the demon, who gave him a twisted and wicked grin.

 _ **I am the heart of darkness that exists in the hearts of men. I am the hatred and rage within thee, Robb of House Stark,**_ the dark imitation explained, held out his hands, and out of thin air appeared a burning, steel sword. _**Can you destroy me, Stark? Then come at me, son of Winterfell! Come for me!**_

Robb struck at the demon first, swinging his sword in a high arc, aimed at cleaving the monster from shoulder to diaphragm. The monstrosity quickly parried his blow, laughing haughtily at the Grey Wolf.

 _ **Yes, that's it, fool. Fight me!**_ it mocked him as it continued to deflect his strikes with almost no effort. _**Fight hatred with hatred, power with power, rage with rage!**_

Robb was starting to strain against this beast. Every swing he took with his sword began to tax him, whilst his opponent showed no visible sign of tiring. It was as if the demon was siphoning his own strength into itself. He had to end this fight. Now.

He batted away a swipe aimed at his head, and behold, the beast had left an opening. Taking the chance, he thrust his blade into the demon's heart, assured of his victory…

Only for the monster to simply _grab_ the blade.

Robb tried to wrest his sword out of the monstrosity's iron-like grip, to no avail. The beast smirked at him and gripped the blade tighter. Soon, the unthinkable happened.

 _Grey Wind_ shattered.

A hundred, tiny shards of Mandalorian steel flew off in different directions. The blade that had served Robb for over twelve, long years was now dust in the wind.

And he was now at the mercy of this demon.

 _ **Who do you think kept you alive for all these years, fool?**_ the demon shrieked at him as it pressed its assault on a now defenseless Robb, who was trying his damn best to avoid the sword. _**All you have ever done is because of me! All your accomplishments are due to me! I am the one who has kept us alive! I am the one who has ensured our survival! Everything you are is because of ME!**_

The doppelganger now had Robb backed up into a corner. In desperation, Robb looked for something-anything-he could use as a weapon, and just as the creature was about to strike, he spotted a glint a few feet away- another sword, laying on the ground, it's white pommel in the shape of a wolf's head.

He rolled away to where it was lying, just as the demon's blade struck the spot where he had been. The Grey Wolf reached the sword, drawing it out of its scabbard, and raised it to block the incoming blade of the demon.

A reverberating clang sounded off in the cavern walls, and the two opponent's blades locked, each pushing to gain an advantage over the other. As they struggled to overcome each other, Robb gritted his teeth, with his new blade being pushed closer and closer to his face. And in that moment- that one, singular moment- the King in the North saw his reflection.

He had the same expression as his doppelganger's; that of hate and fury.

Clarity broke through to him, as his eyes widened in realization; he wasn't fighting a demon, he was fighting himself, his own darkness within him.

The darkness that had been consuming him ever since father died.

And he was losing.

He realized then that he had been going about this all wrong. Hatred could not be fought with hatred. It was as pointless as trying to fight a blaze by throwing petroleum on it.

He then thought back to what Kanan said, to what the orb said. They had the right of it, he realized. Theon had changed, for he was now indeed more humble and compassionate, more forward-thinking and cautious, and genuinely remorseful for his past sins. Torture and time had seen to it that Theon received justice for his crimes, and he was now trying to make amends by helping Robb in earnest instead of hindering him.

Robb then thought of his own crimes, of the men he had cruelly put to death or tormented, all for fighting on the opposite side. He then remembered what his wife asked him in the netherworld…

 _Promise me you'll move on with your life._

Robb realized that he had not kept his promise- not fully. He had accepted the _Ghost_ as his new home, and its crew as his new pack, but he was still stuck in the past, blinded in the way forward by his own hatred and malice, directed at those who betrayed him. He knew now what he had to do, and made the hardest decision he had ever had to make in his life up to that point.

He let it go.

All of it.

And in that moment, the demon was thrown back against the wall, landing with a thundering _crack_.

The beast rose, visibly angered at this turn of events.

 _ **What trickery is this, Stark? What cursed magic did you wring on me?**_

Robb sheathed his new blade in its scabbard, and promptly sat down, closing his eyes in a calm, serene gesture.

"No magic," he explained, calmer than he had ever been before. "No warging or greenseeing or the Force involved. I simply rejected your hold over me. Aye, you were, and are, a part of me, one that has consumed me for far too long. But now, I refuse you control over me any longer." He opened his eyes and looked the demon dead in the eye. "You have lost."

The demon snarled. It shrieked. It readied its own blade for another strike.

And promptly exploded in a brilliant flash of red light, it's screeching essence giving one final, loud, and shrill cry, before dissipating back into nothingness, and the cave became dark and silent once more.

Robb looked at the blade he had acquired, this time going over it in detail as he drew it once more, as he made his way out of the cave and back into the Wolfswood. It was Valaryian Steel, much to his surprise. More to the point, it was a bastard sword, the quintillions curving upward, with the hilt wrapped in black leather, and the white stone pommel shaped as the head of a white direwolf, with rubies acting as red eyes. He sheathed the blade back into its scabbard, and upon said scabbard, carved in the runes of the First Men, was borne the name of the blade.

 _Longclaw_

He paused. Wasn't Longclaw the ancestral blade of House Mormont? So why was it near Winterfell? And why did it have a direwolf's head as a pommel, and not a bear's? Could it be that Jon had somehow received it as a gift from a Mormont? He recalled seeing a similar sword his brother had been using in one of his visions. Perhaps this was the same sword, then.

Regardless, he dropped his old scabbard to the now shattered _Grey Wind_ , and after he hooked up Longclaw to his belt, he set off in the direction of his boyhood home.

* * *

It was not even an hour later when he arrived back in Winterfell. Kanan and the others must have been inside the keep, waiting for him, but he could keep them waiting, for now. Right now, there was only one person he needed to talk to, and he spotted him almost immediately, making the last of his preparations to head back to Dragonstone.

"Got everything prepared?" he asked Theon, who suddenly turned around and looked at him.

"Yeah," Theon said, wiping the sleeve of his duster on his forehead. "A few more diagnostic checks, and then I'll be out of your life."

Robb shook his head, as he walked closer to him. "No, you won't."

Theon looked confused, and that's when Robb closed the distance and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"I forgive you, Theon," Robb spoke, his voice cracking with emotion, as he felt tears wet his cheeks. "I forgive you."

The slightly elder of the two surrogate brothers returned the embrace, and they both stood there for what seemed like an hour, just holding each other, letting past regrets flow out of them, and tears of joy that they had finally found it in their hearts to forgive one another.

Their relationship wouldn't be the same. There were too many scars for that. But as of now, they were no longer enemies, but friends once more.

And Robb would not have it any other way.

For when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm a BIT late with the update. Oh well, *shrug*. Here it is! Thanks to Ahsokafanboy1138 for the suggestion of having an argument between Theon and Robb. Also, emotions! Innuendo! Feels!**

 **A big inspiration for this chapter was Samurai Jack. In particular, Jack vs Mad Jack (Seriously, go look it up on Youtube. It's one of the best-animated series I've ever seen.)**

 **Now, just who in God's name was that floating orb? Well, the answer is...I'm not telling you, yet, sillies!**

 **Now, why the hell was Longclaw in that cave? Again...wait and see. ;)**

 **Until next time, Folks!**


	22. Ezra IV

_He stalked through the dark forest, the wind coursing through his thick, dark fur, as he tracked his prey: an old, wily snow hare. Granted, this would never be much of a meal, but his mother had taught him that a wolf mustn't be a picky eater, lest he let himself and the pack starve._

 _He sniffed the air and caught a scent in the wind. Faint, it was, but it smelled of fear, timothy grass, and wild herbs._

 _He began to prowl silently. It would do no good to alert the prey to his presence, after all. He kept his nose on the scent, inching closer and closer to where the rabbit was located._

 _Finally, he saw it._

 _The old she-rabbit was sitting there, near a tree in a shaded meadow, looking away from where he was located, and quite fortunately unable to smell him, as he was downwind of the hare. Nevertheless, her ears were perked up and alert, constantly straining to hear his footfalls or growls._

 _He crept slowly towards his prey, careful not to make any sound that might be picked up by the hare's rather excellent sense of hearing._

 _Slowly._

 _Slowly._

 _Slowly._

 _He was so close, now…_

 _Just as he was about to spring into action, he felt a twig snap beneath his paw._

 _The rabbit's head shot up, and the two stared at each other, from no more than a few feet away._

 _The old hare moved first, running as fast as her little legs would carry her across the forest. It was clear to the direwolf, now- the stalking was over. Now came the chase._

 _Predator and prey ran through the forest, twisting and turning through long beaten paths in the early hours of the morning. The old hare could not outrun him, and neither could the wolf catch her. But although this hare was swift and wily, it did not worry the young direwolf, for it seemed to have forgotten in its panic one crucial fact._

 _A wolf never hunted alone._

 _As they rounded the corner past a large, white tree, a blur of sand colored fur barreled into the hair, it's strong jaws wrapping around her throat, crushing her windpipe easily._

 _The old hare didn't even have time to shriek before she died._

 _The wolf walked over to his sister, his yellow eyes staring into her violet ones, and together, they began to feast on the flesh of their kill…_

* * *

Ezra felt himself awaken from the dream. It wasn't a sudden, pulling feeling, like waking out of a nightmare, but neither was it a peaceful, lucid thing, like waking out of a good dream. Rather, it was like if he had gotten done watching a holotape in the dark, and had turned on the lights. As if he had shifted from one reality to another.

He blinked rapidly, trying to get the cobwebs out of his eyes, and sat up in his bed, all the while feeling something strange in his mouth.

He tasted copper and iron.

The taste of blood.

He threw his covers off, grabbing a pair of orange pants off the floor, and looked out the window of his bedchambers. The rays of dawn were just beginning to peak over the horizon, with songbirds chirping happily, signaling the beginning of a new day on this planet.

He began his morning routine by performing five sets of ten push-ups, followed up by three sets of twenty sit-ups, and finally two sets of ten pull ups on the curtain rod. Satisfied with his progress thus far, he threw on a black t-shirt, and began his morning run, careful not to wake up anyone who still might be asleep at this hour.

He decided upon running around the entire perimeter of the ancient castle twice; about twelve hundred kilometers and all. Not much of a calorie burner, true, but it would keep him in shape, regardless. As he was running, his thoughts shifted back to the dream. What was that? Was it a premonition? No, he knew what a Force-vision was like, and this dream had none of the haziness, vagueness, or ill omens associated with most of the portents he received. And it wouldn't explain why he tasted blood in his mouth when he woke up.

As he finished his run, he made his way towards the castle courtyard to meet with Kanan, Robb, and Sabine, to begin training on his saber technique. His mind immediately flashed back to the events of yesterday morning, when he and Sabine had gotten rather…close.

He still couldn't quite believe it, to be honest. It was almost as if Bean had wanted him, when he had stared into her warm, inviting amber eyes. His own emotions were such a jumble at that time that he couldn't use the Force to get a proper bead on what she had been feeling.

Romantic feelings aside, he did notice that she was mostly back to her old, smiling, and witty self, although she now carried an energy around her worthy of a leader- confident and bold. And he had also noticed something change in Robb, as well- he was much calmer and serene than he had been before. True, he was still the silent stoic he knew, but the darkness that had surrounded the former king like a cloak had shrunk into almost nothingness. Whatever had happened in that cave he had told them about had changed Robb for the better, in his opinion.

Speaking of which, wherein the nine Corellian hells did he get that new sword with the white wolf-head pommel, and what had happened to his old one?

When he got to the castle courtyard, he saw Sabine standing there, performing her daily calisthenics in a tank top that highlighted her womanly features, and a pair of training pants that accentuated the curve of her rear.

He desperately tried to ignore the heat building up in his cheeks, or the stiffening member in his pants.

She spotted him, and he noticed her cheeks were instantly tinted red in the space of a nanosecond. Of course, he realized. He was wearing a t-shirt that was a bit tighter than normal, which was highlighting all _his_ masculine features to her.

Mutual attraction and embarrassment, he guessed.

"Hey, Bean!" he chose to greet, walking up to her. Upon getting closer to her, he could see that something was troubling the Mandalorian warrior. "Is everything alright?"

She shook her head. "I had the strangest dream last night…" she began. "I had a dream that I was a wolf and that I had killed an old hare, crushing its neck with my teeth, and proceeded to share the meal with another wolf. After I woke up, I had the taste of blood in my mouth," she finished her tale, then stared at him. "Why do you ask?"

Ezra couldn't speak for the better part of a minute. When he could, his voice came out slow, and unsure. "I'm asking because…I think I had the same dream, only…I was the other wolf."

Sabine's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? You're sure?"

Ezra nodded. "I was chasing the hare that your wolf killed. What's more, Sabine, those wolves in our dreams? They looked an awful lot like _our_ wolves."

Just as he said that Runi and Storm came trotting along the courtyard, the former carrying a rabbit's foot in her mouth, while the latter was licking his teeth, trying to get a clump of fur out. Both the two young warriors stared at each other, not saying a word. This was going from strange to Force-damned freaky.

He thought back to what happened on Naraka with Robb, and the way that the Grey Wolf could enter the minds of weak-willed men and animals. Could it be that he and Sabine had the same ability? It could be a possibility, although frankly, he couldn't see how. Sabine wasn't Force-sensitive, and he couldn't recall any past Jedi who demonstrated that ability. He could influence the minds of beasts, establish a connection with them, true, but he couldn't join with their mind.

Could he?

Before he could continue his conversation with Sabine, let alone his own train of thought, he spotted Robb walking up to them.

"Ezra, Sabine," he greeted warmly. "Glad you two are up and about."

Ezra smirked. "Likewise, wolf," he returned. It was truly good to see the usually sullen man in such good spirits. "So, we going to start by sparring with swords, or with fists. Been itching to pay Bean back for that walloping she gave me during our last hand fighting session."

Sabine snorted. "In your dreams, laser brain. You might be better than a sword than me, but I'll pound your ass to the ground any day of the week."

Ezra crossed his arms, adopting a playful grin. "Oh-ho-ho. Just you wait, Miss High-and-Mighty. I'll have you know I've been practicing with Kanan since then."

Before Sabine could retort any further, Robb laughed. "No, no training today, at least not this morning."

Sabine cocked an eyebrow while placing her hands on her hips. "Really? So, what did you want to do, then?"

The Grey Wolf simply smiled and tapped that new sword of his lightly. "I was actually thinking that you two come with me. There's been something I've been meaning to show you," he replied, before sauntering off towards a pair of heavy, iron doors. "I'd advise you two get on some warmer clothes, though," he called back. "It can get quite cold down in the crypts beneath Winterfell."

* * *

Robb was right, Ezra realized as he shivered slightly through his favorite orange jacket. These crypts were kriffing _cold_.

All along the walls of the crypts, lighted by candlelight, were statues. Monuments to the deceased Lords of Winterfell and Kings in the North, and as Ezra ventured further into the crypts with Sabine and Kanan, he swore he could feel the statues looking at him, judging his worth as a man.

It was sometime later that they found Robb, staring at a statue of a grim, long-haired man in his late thirties, clutching a greatsword made of iron. Next to that statue was of a younger man holding a facsimile of a burning sword, then one of a young woman, then one of a woman with a mask, and finally one of a boy no older than Mart. As Ezra noted Robb's solemn face, something clicked for him.

These statues were of Robb's father and siblings; Eddard, Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Rickon.

"Is that…" he breathed near-wordlessly.

Robb nodded quietly, answering his question. "It is. The statues you see before you are of my family. My father and brothers and sisters…" He trailed off before he moved to the very last statue, and Ezra's eyes widened in shock.

"And myself," Robb finished.

Ezra could not help but stare at the stone doppelganger of his good friend and brother. He looked so young, dressed in armor fit for a king, with a sword made of rusted iron gripped in one stone hand. Its eyes were ever set forward, gazing at nothing, yet seemingly looking at him. As if trying to tell him something…

It was then, he sensed it. There was something buried in Robb's tomb. Something that was calling out to him.

"There's something in your grave," he declared, much to everyone's shock. Well, everyone except Kanan, that was, who kept a neutral, thoughtful expression on his face.

"Really?" Robb expressed his disbelief. "I was under the assumption that there was no one buried in it."

Ezra shook his head. "It's not a body. That I'm sure of. At least…it doesn't feel like a dead person to me. It's rather something…how should I say it? Not alive in the first place?"

He could feel Sabine roll her eyes at him "Oh, gee, real descriptive, Ez. You got any other brilliant deductions hidden up your sleeve?"

The young man sighed at his best friend. "Look, Bean, I don't know how to really describe it. It's not something that's dead, but it's something that's not alive, either. It rather feels much like a Holocron or kyber crystal, come to think of it."

"So, it's an object that has some residual Force energy," Kanan calmly observed. "It's something at least. Still, though, I don't think we should be poking around in someone's grave. The dead should have their rest."

Robb turned Ezra's surrogate father with a quizzical expression on his face. "Disturb their rest? Last I checked, I'm still here, aren't I?"

Kanan groaned. "Fair point. What do you propose we do?"

Robb shrugged. "Dig it out, I suppose. Though I really don't know how we're going to do that, as it will take hours, and we don't have the necessary equipment," the Grey Wolf quipped while looking at them both. "I suppose neither of you could use your powers and lift the slab up?"

Kanan nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah, we could. But I have reservations about using the Force like this," he warned. The blind knight turned to his Padawan. "Ezra, you ready?"

Ezra eagerly nodded, already wondering what might be buried in there, then admonished himself. A Jedi should seek neither riches nor glory, after all. But…if the Force willed him to find this tomb, then wasn't it worth it.

He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force. Underneath a few feet of dirt, he felt a slab of stone, locked in place by iron clamps. Carefully, the unlocked the clamps and then lifted. Even with the Force, the thing was kind of heavy, compounded by the fact that they had three feet of solid Earth to contend with. But they were Jedi…

And size mattered not to them.

Slowly, but surely, the ground gave way, and the slab floated up and out of the tomb, as the two Jedi made sure to rest it safely nearby, in order to reclose the grave once they were done, here. The dead must still be respected, after all.

Once they were done, and the dust resettled, Ezra took out his pocket flashlight and shined it down into the grave.

There, he saw it.

At the bottom of the stone sarcophagus lay a simple set of bronzium-durasteel armor and grey robes made of a mysterious material. On top of the breastplate lay a lightsaber, smooth and ornate in design, with a cross guard that had strange runes carved on it. But that's not what caught Ezra's attention the most.

What really drew his attention was the helm that sat on top of the armor. It was battle worn and old, colored red and grey, with a thin, black visor, and looked vaguely Mandalorian in design. There seemed to be something…familiar…about the helmet, almost as if Ezra had seen it before, but he knew he had never seen such a thing before in his life.

Carefully, Kanan and he lifted the armor, helmet, and saber out of the tomb, then set the slab and dirt back down over it. When the dust again settled, everyone looked at the discovery.

"An old set of armor and a lightsaber?" Robb asked. "Honestly, it doesn't seem like such a big deal to me."

"It may not be," Kanan agreed, partially. "But the Force wanted us to find this. For what reason, I can't say. What I can note, however, is that nothing that's happened here has been by accident."

"Hmm. Fair enough point," Robb relented.

"No…" Sabine interrupted as she took a good look at the armor set and saber. "It can't be…"

"What is it, Bean?" Ezra jumped up and asked her. He noticed her eyes had gone as wide as saucer plates, and her skin white as a ghost. "Do you know what this is?"

She nodded, a bit too frantically for his tastes. "I do. The armor and lightsaber belonged to the only outlander to ever truly conquer my people- the Grey Knight. Revan."

Ezra heard Kanan suck in a breath. "Revan? As in, 'Darth Revan'?"

Sabine nodded. "The same one, unfortunately. As kids, every Mandalorian is taught the tale of Revan the Butcher. It's supposed to be a story to frighten children, warning them against the path of hubris and dishonor, or the Butcher would find them and make them pay for their sins."

"Wait, hold up." Robb interrupted, holding his palms up for dramatic effect. "Who in the bloody seven hells was Revan?"

"I've almost forgotten that you're a relative newcomer to this time, Robb," Kanan jokingly apologized. "Well, Revan was probably one of the most influential figures in galactic history. As my master told me, he led his own faction of Jedi into battle against the Mandalorians four thousand years ago, when the Council refused to get involved. His tactical and strategic genius was second to none, comparable to Thrawn's, even, and he soon turned the tide for the Republic. Eventually, the war ended in the space above Malachor, where he decimated the Mandalorian fleet and slew Mandalore the Ultimate in single combat."

"He's also the Jedi who turned _Manda'yim_ into an irradiated desert," Sabine spat. "He's the reason our people have to live in bio-domes on our home planet."

"I don't think anyone denies what he did was cruel, Sabine," Kanan amended. "But I'd argue at that point, he ceased to be a Jedi. After all that, he took his apprentice and half the Republic Fleet and disappeared into the Unknown Regions to track down what we later learned to be the True Sith. But when he returned, he had become a Sith Lord, himself," he lectured. He closed his clouded eyes, apparently in thought. "But even as a Sith, Revan wasn't a monster like most of them. Ruthless, cold, and calculating, yes, but he didn't kill out of personal pleasure or bloodlust. There was always a method to what he was doing," he sighed. "Back to the history lesson, though. For three years, he conquered much of the Republic, until his apprentice turned on him. He was then captured and mindwiped by the Council- something Master Yoda always said should never happen, again- and went on to eventually destroy the Star Forge, which was a weapon of immeasurable power, and kill his old apprentice, Malak. He then disappeared again, never to be heard from until the Great Galactic War three hundred years later, where he died on Yavin Four, and finally became one with the Force." He finished, frowning. "But that doesn't explain why his gear ended up here on Valaryos, and in Winterfell, of all places. No offense, Robb."

"No offense taken, my friend," Robb said, nonchalant. "Hmm. Perhaps Revan had a descendant. Someone who was fond of him, and took his armor here to be buried."

"Possible," Kanan agreed. "He did have a child with the Jedi Bastila, after all, but the Shans disappeared from the public record almost three thousand years ago. And that still doesn't explain why someone would have buried his armor in your tomb."

"True..." Robb relented, closing his eyes in thought. "Perhaps it's time I should use my greensight, again, and unravel this mystery. I know enough to look for the answer, now, and perhaps I'll discover something else along the way."

"Sounds like a good plan," Kanan affirmed, then his comlink went off. Hera, Ezra knew. "But it will have to wait for another time," he finished as the device beeped. Ezra's master took the commlink and answered it. "Go ahead, dear."

" _Well, love, we have some good news,"_ Hera replied. Ezra could hear the relief in her voice…and something else. " _First thing's first; Theon and Zeb have found the Fleet. It's precisely ten klicks northwest of Dragonstone."_

"I knew you guys could do it!" Kanan smiled. "But I sense you've something else to tell me."

" _I do, dear,"_ she confirmed. Hera's voice was lower, now, and filled with something that Ezra couldn't quite place. Hope? Longing? Anxiety. " _Love, do you remember when we were having…fun…before we came here to Valaryos?"_

"Not easily forgotten, that," Kanan joked. Ezra just rolled his eyes. He didn't need to know the details of his surrogate parents' sexual life. But…he was also curious as to what Hera had to say, next.

" _Well, love, I've been having…issues this past week. Issues that are related to pregnancy. Dear…we're going to have a child."_

The room fell silent for the good part of a minute, and when Kanan finally found his voice, it was full of surprised joy.

"I…I honestly don't know what to say. I'm so happy right now I'm speechless! Hera…we're going to be parents…" he breathed.

" _I know, love,"_ she affirmed, and Ezra swore he could mentally picture her giving him a heartwarming and comfortable smile. " _But for right now, we need to focus on the task at hand. Get back to us at Dragonstone as soon as you can, okay?"_

"We will, Hera," Kanan confirmed. "I love you, dear."

" _I love you, too, Kanan."_

With that, the commlink turned off, and Ezra's adoptive father sat down, his breath ragged and heavy. "Force above, I'm going to be a father…and I thought being blind was the hardest thing I would have to go through."

"If there is anyone here truly worthy enough to be a father, Kanan, it's you," Robb said as he put a hand on his shoulder. "You've survived tougher challenges, and I've seen the way you've molded Ezra into a worthy young man. I'll believe you'll do fine. Congratulations."

Kanan nodded. "Thanks, Robb. You're a good friend, you know that?"

The Grey Wolf shrugged. "I try to do what I can. Now, we need to get this armor out of here and the ship packed up. Need to link up with your missus and the others at Dragonstone, after all," he joked, then sighed, looking back at the statue of Lord Eddard. "One day, though…we may yet return. Once this war is one, we may return…"

* * *

It was nearly evening once they had gotten everything packed onto the _Starbird_ for their journey south to Dragonstone. Ezra was now currently sitting in the front passenger seat with Sabine taking the helm- it was her ship, after all.

"Gotta say…" he opened up, smiling slyly at his closest friend. "That armor fit me perfectly."

Sabine cocked her eyebrow at him. "Really? You tried on Revan's old armor and it fits you like a glove. Forgive me for saying this, Ez, but I've heard better nerfshit from Mart."

"It's the truth, I swear," he held his hands up in mock surrender. "But seriously, I'm going to miss this place," he confessed, as Storm came and hopped on his lap, curling into a ball to go to sleep.

"Yeah, I feel the same…" Sabine replied, her voice soft. "Ezra, what do you think it will take to win this war?" She asked him, her voice full of sincerity.

He thought for a moment. "I don't honestly know," he confessed. "Robb seems to think that killing the Emperor would be enough, but what if it isn't?" he trailed off for a moment, a sudden, horrid thought occurring to him. "What if we're fighting the wrong kind of war in the first place?"

Now it seemed Sabine was really taken aback. "Ezra, you know what Palpatine has taken, from all of us. Your parents, my uncle, Zeb's people, Kanan's master."

He shook his head. "Sabine, I know all that, and I didn't say that we shouldn't fight them. I just got this feeling, though… I don't think the Empire is the worst evil we've encountered, yet."

"Then what is?" she asked him.

"Truthfully? I don't know. All I know is that I've got a feeling…that there is something out there worse than the Empire."

* * *

 **A/N: A short and kind of filler-y chapter…but one that will be ultimately important in the long run. So, Ezra is now in possession of Revan's armor and lightsaber, the kids are having wolf dreams, and Hera is preggers, but who is the baby…. Ok, it's Dawn. Thank you to Meldy-Arts for letting me use your fan-baby for Kanan and Hera.**

 **Now, will Sabine and Ezra talk to Robb about having those dreams? Will Robb find out what connects Ezra, Revan, and Winterfell? And just what in the fuck happened to all the people on Valaryos. Find out next time!**

 **Also, if anyone is wondering where I was, well, let's just say, Season 7 of Game of Thrones is very addicting. Now, night gathers, and now my watch begins…**


	23. Theon II

It was ages since he last stood on this spot, looking at the setting sun to the west.

It was here that he announced to the remaining Ironborn loyal to his sister that they would go on a mission to rescue her. His idea had been met with scorn, at first, and one of his men had even attempted to kill him.

Theon closed his eyes, and let the memories wash over him, as painful as they were. His mission had ended in failure. Although he managed to kill Euron, Yara sustained grievous wounds upon their escape from Pyke, and she succumbed to hemorrhaging only minutes after getting on the boat. The line of Greyjoy ended that day. He stayed around the Iron Islands only long enough to ensure that power transferred to House Harlaw, and after that…well, the rest, they say, is history.

He listened to the waves crash against the rocks, to the seagulls crying to one another as they searched for food, and to the seals happily chortling in the distance. He may be commanding a space vessel, now, but his heart had always belonged to the sea, and his soul to the Drowned God. He still heard the call of the sea, beckoning him to brave its dangers and reap its rewards. He smiled slightly to himself. Mayhaps there were new seas to explore on distant worlds beyond known space. Mayhaps…

"Oi, Theon!" a familiar gruff, yet friendly voice called out to him. He opened his eyes and turned to Garazeb Orrelios, or Zeb, as the Lasat preferred to be called. "Robb and the rest are going to be here in about thirty minutes. We should make sure the submersible we found near the docks is prepared for the journey down."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You managed to get that thing working? That damned sub has to be over four thousand years old."

Zeb rubbed the back of his neck and groaned. "Yeah, depends on what you mean by 'working'. Will it take us to where the fleet is? Yeah. Will it hold enough air for a return journey to the surface? Gonna have to say…no…on that one."

Theon shook his head. "Getting to the fleet is all I really care about. Nonetheless, we should also make sure to have underwater gear on hand. If there is a hull breach, I don't want to take any chances, and I'm sure Hera would agree with me."

Zeb nodded. "Aye. Question is, though, how are we going to get the fleet from out under the bay?"

Theon held up his hands, as they walked towards the castle, up the long and winding stairs. He had forgotten how much he hated walking up to the keep. "One thing at a time, my friend. We'll worry about getting the fleet out after we get there."

Up and up the narrow stairs they climbed, and after what seemed like fifteen minutes of the damned shit, they finally reached the great bronze doors of Dragonstone keep.

"Ashla above," Zeb wheezed. Clearly, the Lasat had been drinking way too much hooch. "What in the kriff were they thinking building stairs like that?"

"Dragonstone is a fortress, my friend," Theon informed him as they walked into the keep, which remained one of the dullest and dreariest for Theon. At least Winterfell could seem warm and friendly from time to time. "It was built as a fallback position for the Valyrians, and then later used as a naval base for the Royal Fleet, usually under the command of the Crown Prince."

Zeb nodded, unsurely. "Right. I'm just going to pretend to understand all that and agree. Now, where was Hera, again?"

"I believe she said she'd be in the map room, right now," Theon informed him, as they walked through the dim, onyx halls. "Ah, here it is," he said as he pointed towards a large door on the right, and together, they stepped through.

When had he last been in this room, with Aegon's famous Painted Table? Ah, yes, it was when Daenerys Targaryen had called her last war council before setting off towards Winterfell with Jon. There, they had discussed the threat of the White Walkers and made plans on how to combat them effectively.

Theon shuddered. What a horrid war that was. Many, many good men fell in those battles, and Winterfell itself was nearly taken by the Night King, if not for Sansa's sacrifice, and Jon's heroic feat in killing that frozen bastard.

He saw Hera in front of the table, staring out the large windows, her eyes closed in deep thought. He nodded to Zeb and came to stand right by her.

"Not the most beautiful place in the world, I admit," he spoke up, causing her to open her eyes. "View's nice though. Maybe one day you and Kanan can come back here. Make this a home for you and your child."

The veteran Twi'lek pilot and commander smiled and put a hand on her stomach. "Perhaps. Perhaps we'll live somewhere else, instead. Ryloth for instance," she mused out loud. Her smile soured after that. "That is…if we win this war."

"No one ever said it was going to be easy or simple," Theon confessed. "One thing at a time, though. We're about to retrieve the legendary Katana Fleet itself. After that…who knows? Perhaps after we help Sabine liberate Mandalore we will finally be able to mount our assault on Lothal…"

"…and then, onto the Empire's little weapon project," Hera finished for him.

"Aye, but that weapon is being guarded by an entire sector fleet, not to mention several orbital defense platforms _and_ a ray shield. Plus, if what information both Robb and Saw gave us is accurate, then we don't know of any real weaknesses, yet," he reminded her.

"Like you said…" she smirked. "One thing at a time." She turned to the table. "Curious. This map is incredibly detailed. Major and minor land features, cities and castles. Even minor villages and streams are plotted out on this thing," she said, admiring the infamous table. "Who built this? All this time being in this room, and I've yet to ask you."

"That would have been Aegon the Conqueror, who was perhaps Westeros' most famous figure," he informed her. "He united the Seven Kingdoms into one eighty-three hundred years ago. Compared to galactic conquerors, he was a nobody in the grand scheme of things, but to Robb and I…well, every child in Westeros knew the story of Aegon and his dragons."

"Dragons?" Hera repeated.

Theon nodded. "Yes. Three of them, to be more precise. Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar were their names. With only those dragons and sixteen hundred men, he conquered and united the seven kingdoms into one, and his dynasty ruled our country for nearly three hundred years until Robert's Rebellion."

Hera crossed her arms, nodding in understanding. "Interesting. You once told me that you served his descendant, Daenerys."

"Aye, I did. She was perhaps one of the best monarchs I've ever known, and like her ancestor, she also had three dragons…" he trailed off for a moment, remembering her mounts: Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. "Beautiful creatures they were, yet utterly terrifying at the same time. Imagine it; a reptile the size of a large freighter, breathing fire hot enough to melt durasteel in an instant, flying as fast and as agile as an A-Wing fighter."

"Must have been quite a sight," Hera whistled, and Theon felt himself nodding for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, it was," he sighed. "But now the dragons are gone. What remains? Some paltry lizards on a backwater desert planet? A mere facsimile of the true thing on Arkanis?" he shook his head in quiet remembrance. "Regardless, they would not be of much use anymore, anyway. The age of spear and bow has long since passed, given way to the age of the blaster and the starship."

Before Hera could respond any further, the distant, growing whine of sublight engines told them that Robb and the others were approaching the island.

As all three of them walked out of the room, and out of the secondary entrance that leads to the old farms and fields that used to sustain this place, something turned in Theon's gut. Things were going well…almost too well. They hadn't exactly been subtle trying to find the Katana Fleet, and normal Imperial response should have been to at least dispatch a patrol to investigate, if not go for their usual methods of overkill and just drop in a cruiser on top of them, but so far…

Nothing.

No comm chatter from their research base near the Fist of the First Men, no signs of any real activity corresponding with Imperial norms, just…oddities. His men monitoring the area above from the _Remembrance_ were clearly seeing something corresponding to people digging in the area, but it was the _way_ in which they did it that seemed off to Theon.

It didn't correspond to standard Imperial procedure.

As he brooded on these thoughts, he witnessed the _Starbird_ touch down half a grav-ball field away from them, the sleek and angular craft, painted dark blue and cream white, landing as gracefully as a swan, it's wings curving upwards on the descent.

Out of the Mandalorian spacecraft stepped the Winterfell crew; Robb, Ezra, Kanan, Sabine, and Fenn Rau, with two direwolf pups towing behind them, one colored as black as midnight, while the other had tan fur that blazed like copper.

So, these must have been the two young rebels' direwolves; Storm and Runi. Interesting names for the beasts, he surmised.

He walked up to Robb, first. The two stopped and stared at each other for a moment.

"See you found Jon's old sword," Theon noted, eyeing the familiar Longclaw now resting on Robb's hip.

"Found it in that cave I told you about," Robb replied. Before long, the two began smiling and soon wrapped each other in a warm embrace.

"Gods, how long has it been since we greeted each other like this, brother?" Theon greeted as they broke the warm embrace.

"Ever since the beginning of the war, I imagine," Robb smiled back at him. "But enough about that. Tell me how things have been here," the Grey Wolf asked as he looked around. "So, Dragonstone, eh? Admittedly not much to look at."

"It's an acquired taste," the Iron-Fist japed. "But more to the point; as Hera probably already mentioned, we found the damned fleet at last. Zeb just recently finished repairs to an old submersible we found on the island, and we should be ready by nightfall to set out."

"How many people can that thing fit, though?" Robb asked him.

Theon rubbed his silvery, short beard. "Honestly? Probably no more than five, at most. As Hera is now pregnant, that'll leave her out. I'd also advise Kanan to stay behind with his missus."

"Don't know if they'll agree to that," Robb pointed out. "Hera's pretty damned stubborn when it comes to her crew. Kanan might not have an issue, though."

"Think you should talk to them, then. You've known them longer, and I think they'll listen to you," Theon replied, smirking. "You can be pretty damned convincing when you need to be."

"Oh, stop, you," Robb waved off. "Fine. I'll try to convince Hera and Kanan to stay behind and watch the ships. Maybe convince Rau to babysit them while they're at it."

Theon chuckled. "Maybe. Well, at least this should be fun for the two kids, Zeb, and that psychotic little trash can Hera keeps insisting is one of her crew," he joked…halfway. Call it a hunch, but that little droid was a little too much like Ramsay for his taste.

And Ramsay Bolton was more than enough for one lifetime, let alone _two_.

"That psychotic little trash can could come in handy, need I remind you?" Robb chastised, a bit unserious. "He's an astromech after all, and with Sabine coming with us as well, we'll manage to get this fleet out of the water in no time."

"I certainly hope so. I pray to the gods that the slave-wiring is still intact. All we really need to do is find the flagship, and then we should be set," He said, then frowned. "It's…kind of a shame, though. I've forgotten how much I've missed Westeros. Sure, it was shit, but it was our shit, at least," he sighed. "Really, though, it's only this place and Winterfell that are even remotely intact. King's Landing is a crumbling ruin, Pyke fell into the sea, the Rock and Highgarden are reclaimed by nature. I could go on and on..." he paused, a horrible thought occurring to him. "What happened to our world, Robb?"

Robb shook his head, a grim expression settling on his face. "I don't know, Theon. Kanan thinks it related to the Force, and not the just side of it, either. We will find out, though…I hope."

The last living son of House Greyjoy nodded, uncertainly. "Aye. That is my hope, as well," he agreed as they began the long hike back up the hill towards the keep. "C'mon. The sooner we can get the sub packed and everything planned, the better."

* * *

It was nightfall when the crew chosen for the mission sealed themselves inside the old submersible- which was an ancient model known as a CzerkaTech S34, according to Sabine- and began their long, slow descent to where the Katana Fleet lay waiting for them. So far, nearly everyone had been quite calm and collected during the sojourn down to the bottom of Blackwater Bay, named for its dark waters.

Well, almost everyone…

"Alright, calm down, Sabine…you can do this…you can do this…" the crew's resident Mandalorian was saying to herself, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her sides.

"C'mon, Sabine," Zeb teased, ever the elder brother. "Don't tell me you're afraid of some sea water."

"Oh, no, Zeb..." she sarcastically spat out. "What's not to be afraid of in a four-thousand-year-old rickety-ass tub that's nearly a thousand meters under water? I mean, it's not like the hull could breach at any minute and thousands of tons of saltwater comes rushing in here, which would crush us instantly, if we were lucky, or drown us if we weren't!"

"Didn't take you for a hydrophobic," Robb quipped, swinging around in his seat to face her. "Where did that come about?"

She took a deep breath. "Years ago, back when I was still a cadet in the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. We had a mandatory underwater field operations class in my first semester. In our first field exercise, something went wrong with my rebreather. I nearly drowned a hundred meters under, and would have died were it not for Ketsu," she confessed. "Ever since then, large bodies of water have scared the living kriff out of me. Even more so if it's _underneath_ the surface."

"Well, you might not have to worry too much longer about that, Lady Wren," Theon informed. "We're nearly there to our target destination. Ezra, can you kill the interior lights and open up the floodlights? The second panel- switches 1 and 5."

The young Jedi did as he was as asked, quick as a Kraken, and as the cabin was darkened around them, the black, inky waters of Blackwater Bay lit up fireworks at an Empire Day celebration. The floodlights, true to their name, bathed the area around them in light, and there they saw it.

Ships.

Dozens of them.

 _Hundreds_ of them.

All around them, at the bottom of the bay, aligned in neat rows and columns, were hundreds of coral-covered, gunmetal grey hulled _Dreadnaught_ -class heavy cruisers. The scene looked to Theon as if they were metal coffins for some long-lost race of giants, committed to the Drowned God for all eternity. The rest of the crew, though, were too speechless to make the comparison, however, he reckoned. Their long search had paid off, after all.

They had found the Katana Fleet.

"I've never seen that many cruisers in my life…" Ezra commented, his voice going quietly in awe and wonder.

" _Manda_ above, that has to be an entire Sector Fleet's worth of heavy cruisers," Sabine reverently agreed. "And to think all this time…they were just sitting here at the bottom of this bay. I wonder if they're still spaceworthy?"

"Well, we didn't come all this way just to come empty-handed," Theon argued. "Chopper, is the flagship picking up on any of the scopes or sensors?"

The short, somewhat sadistic droid warbled something at him, apparently telling him that he was still searching, before happily beeping and waving around those tiny mechanical arms of his.

"Chop says he's picked up the IFF tags of the _Katana_!" Sabine translated for the droid. "It's coming…a click east of here. He says we should easily recognize it, as it's the only ship that is bearing the old Republic roundel."

"Must be the flagship, then," Theon replied, and turned the vessel hard port. A few seconds of churning water silently later, they saw it.

Unlike the rest of the Dreadnaughts, which were dark grey in color, the _Katana_ was painted pitch black, as if her designers wished it to blend in with the void itself. And the purpose would have been accomplished, too, if not for one, glaring detail that had been insisted upon by the Senatorial Defense Committee:

The roundel of the Galactic Republic painted on both port and starboard sides of the bow near the bridge. The symbol, Theon reckoned, must've looked extraordinarily dignified and revered when the ship was christened and launched from drydock to begin its maiden voyage, but now, the once-proud roundel was stained and fading, a combination of age and wear from salt-water.

"Chopper, is there any airlocks we can latch onto nearby?" Theon asked the droid, who warbled for a moment before again coming up with something.

"He says there's one near us, starboard side near the aft," Ezra translated for him. "Small enough for us to latch onto, at any rate."

"Alright. Latching on…now," Theon affirmed, already spotting the airlock. Gently, he maneuvered the craft alongside the dark hull, expertly docking with the four-meter-wide lock. When a satisfying snap-hiss was heard, indicating to everyone in the sub that they had successfully docked, Theon breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't even know he had been holding. Seems the Drowned God had favored them, after all; the ancient hull had held up.

"Hey, whaddya know, Bean," Ezra began to tease, "we didn't die after all!"

Theon had to suppress a smirk as the Mandalorian girl simply responded with a "Shut up!" and punched the young Jedi in the arm. Zeb, on the other hand, had no such self-control and laughed openly at the display.

"Alright, alright, you two," Robb chastised. "Knock it the fuck off and get focused. We have a mission to complete, and I'd rather not remain in this piece of junk one second longer." He had switched into "commander" mode, as Theon used to call it, as the Grey Wolf put on his helmet with the faceless silver visor, sealing it, and checked his weapons and ammunition. The rest of the crew began to do much the same, with Ezra clipping his saber onto his belt and holstering his DL-44 pistol, Sabine putting on her helm checking her gear, and Zeb making sure his own bo-rifle was green and ready. For his part, Theon made sure his own A-280-CFE was loaded and primed, and that he had several concussion grenades on him in case of…unwelcome guests. And, as an aside, everyone who didn't put on a helmet made sure to strap on a life-support rebreather.

"Chopper, begin the unlocking sequence," the Iron-Fist commanded the astromech, who grumpily bleeped something at him- most likely a complaint about 'having to do everything around here'- and shuffled on over to the sub's own airlock to begin the sequence. A few moments later, the doors opened, and what greeted them was the dark maw of oblivion.

"I'll take point," Robb offered. "I'd advise we turn on our tac-lights to low power, that is for us that don' have thermal or night-vision. Who knows what we could run into here?"

"I second that," Sabine agreed as they stepped through the airlocks and into the dark corridors of the _Katana_. "I'll try to pull up some schematics and link it up to your HUD, Robb."

"Roger, Sabine," he confirmed and pointed forward with his hand. "Alright, let's move out."  
Almost immediately, Theon was hit by the stench of death and decay as soon as the doors to the airlock closed behind them. It was overwhelming, powerful. He shined his light on the bulkhead, and saw scratches everywhere, and below the scratches…

Skeletons…

Dozens of skeletons, skulls, and bits of bone covered by the remains of naval uniforms.

This wasn't a cruiser, Theon realized in abject horror. This was a tomb.

"Force above," Ezra whispered, his face going pale. "What in the karking hell happened here?"

"Oxygen deprivation, most likely," Theon informed them, his voice going quiet and grim. "Poor souls were suffocating, tried to escape their fate as the life support was shut off. Only hastened their end." He tried not to think back to the Dreadfort. He was frankly happy that carnal house of horrors was pulled down and salted after the wars. "We should keep moving. How far up ahead is the bridge?"

"On these ships?" Sabine answered him, trying not to stare at the rotten corpses. "Gonna say about four hundred more meters, and that's if we're lucky and none of the corridors have collapsed. Gonna be a lot longer, otherwise."

They continued their trek through the dark, ominous corridors, occasionally spotting the skeleton of some poor bastard who tried to escape his or her cruel fate, probably dying either gasping for air, wasting away from starvation or, as the scattered knives and blasters indicated, they ended it before it got that far. And all the while…

All the while, Theon felt like he was being watched by some curious, and deranged, entity.

"Here we are," Robb announced finally, after what felt like hours of wandering blindly in the darkness. Before the group was a large set of heavy blast doors. "Chopper, will you do the honors?"

The astromech warbled in the affirmative and found the outlet to open said blast doors. A few moments of tinkering later, and the old doors slid open, revealing a decent-sized command bridge. The layout of the command center was typical for a star cruiser designed and built by Rendili StarDrive; large, square transparisteel windows, seven in total, covered the viewports of the bridge in a sort of trapezoid fashion, giving the ship's commander a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the battlefield, with a commander's chair sitting on a slightly raised platform in the middle, and chairs for the bridge crew at various stations along the viewport. Towards the back of the bridge was a war room, complete with a holographic table and nav-screens. Standard Republic layout, no doubt.

"Alright, Sabine, Chopper, you're up," Theon spoke up. "See if you can't get at least the life support and main power back online."

"On it," she replied. "C'mon, Chop. Let's see if we can't make this bleak place just a wee bit brighter."

While the duo set about their task and Ezra and Zeb pulled security on the blast door, Theon managed to pull Robb aside.

"Hey, you've got a moment?" he asked him. The last living scion of House Stark nodded, and together they ventured into the dark war room.

"What is it, Theon?" he asked him, an inquiring tone seeping into his mechanized voice.

"There's something following us," Theon confessed. "I don't know who, or what. All I have is a gut feeling that there's something tracking us."

"Sure it's not just paranoia?" Robb halfway japed, but Theon could tell behind the thin humor he was also thinking something similar. "I've got the same feeling, too," he whispered in a much lower, more serious voice. "Ezra's been kind of antsy, as well, and I don't think it has to do with whatever happened here."

Before the duo could continue their conversation, Theon heard something. It was faint, at first; no more than a soft tapping sound, it seemed. But has he listened closer, the sound grew louder and more distinctive.

 _Ker-clank._

 _Ker-clank._

 _Ker-clank._

 _Ker-clank._

It sounded to Theon as if someone, or something, was walking towards them in metallic boots…or mayhaps it was some form of protocol droid, still searching for his master. Whatever the case may be, everyone was now hearing the distinctive sound.

 _Ker-clank._

 _ **Ker-clank.**_

 _ **Ker-clank.**_

With a quickness that could rival the dragons of old themselves, Robb, Zeb, and himself quickly covered the doorway, blasters drawn and aimed into the dark fatal funnel that was the corridor, while Ezra hung back and ignited his saber, the emerald green hue lighting up the darkened bridge.

"Bean?" The boy asked his friend, still at the terminal with that psychopathic lunatic of an astromech. "How much longer till you get this thing fixed?"

"Only half a minute, Ez!" She replied a bit too sharply.

As the clanking grew louder, Theon and the rest of the crew could see a dim, red light heading towards them. As the light grew closer, it split into two lights, and out of the shadows stepped a droid, but not one that Theon was really expecting, and one that made him feel even more on edge.

It appeared to be some sort of battle droid, perhaps distantly related to the old B1-series used by the Confederacy all those years ago. It was nearly skeletal in appearance but bulkier than most droids of its type; it was obviously built for brutal killing. Its cranial unit resembled a death's head emblem, as two blazing red photoreceptors stared at them, and Theon could not tell whether they held malice or curiosity, or perhaps both.

Though, guessing by the blaster rifle of unknown make held in its hands, he was going to go with 'malice'.

The assassin droid looked at them, turning it's 'head' from left to right, and, just as the lights came on and the power was restored, it spoke to them, in a masculine, mechanized, and damned outright _archaic_ voice.

"Cautionary: Now, I will say this only once, and you better have a good answer for me before I rip out your spines and use them as throwing darts. Identify yourselves, meatbags!"

* * *

 **A/N: Another chapter done! And HK is here! That lovable droid with the psychotic killer instinct and sarcastic wit!**

 **Now, you may be asking, "Wait, hold on a fucking minute! How did the fucking hell HK-47 find them? And how is he functioning after four millennia?" Well, patience, young grasshopper! All will be revealed in good time.**

 **And now, they have found the Katana Fleet! But how to get it out of the water and into space? And what is going on in the far north of Westeros? What will HK do? Find out next time on DRAGONBALL Z- shit, wrong outro.**

 **Until the next time!**


	24. Sabine V

The air on the _Katana_ was deathly still.

Here before them was some sort of ancient model of battle droid, his once-vermilion paint now peeled and rusted from age and wear, keeping his antiquated rifle of unknown make at low ready.

"Before we answer that question, droid," Robb began, his voice low and dangerous- the classic wolf's snarl Sabine had come to expect. "You'll answer our question, first. Who are you?"

"Statement: My unit designation is HK-47. I am a combat unit specialized for infiltration, target acquisition, and elimination. Query: Now, will one of you meatbags answer my question, or am I going to have to start breaking bones?"

"You try anything, droid, and I'll rip you in pieces," Zeb growled, the ever-protective elder brother.

The droid stared at the Lasat, the grip on his rifle tightening. "Declarative: Very well, Lasat. I will start with you," the crimson foe stated, and took one, menacing step towards Zeb, as Sabine and everyone else raised their weapons, ready to defend their brother-in-arms…

…only for the droid to collapse on the ground, his old, rusted leg finally giving way due to wear and age. HK-47 sprawled out on the floor, thrashing his remaining limbs this way and that, all the while copiously cursing.

"Exclamatory: Maker damn it all to the nine hells! How did I karking forget that I was four thousand karking years old? I'm literally falling the kriff apart! Argh!"

"Stand down, everyone. This bucket of bolts is no threat," Robb advised the group. Sabine hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly holstered her blaster pistols while everyone else either lowered or deactivated their weapons, as well.

"Well, now, droid," the Grey Wolf continued, adopting a smirk. "Now that we've determined you aren't a danger to us, we'll answer your question. My name is Robb Stark," he said, pointing to himself. "That guy with the metal hands is Theon Greyjoy. The Lasat wanting to rip you in half is Garazeb Orrelios, the Mandalorian woman is Sabine Wren, and the Jedi behind me is Ezra Bridger."

"Query: Jedi, are you? It's been quite some time since I last served a Jedi, although I vaguely remember him dying on Yavin. As a matter of fact, there is little I do remember, anymore. The slow march of time and some damnable block have seen to that," the droid exclaimed. He obviously had some history with the old order, if there was anything to go by.

"Well, that's just karking disappointing," Zeb grunted. "Is there anything you _do_ remember, rustbucket?"

"Statement: For your information, purple meatbag, there is. I remember my last mission, my last set of instructions, and information pertaining to what happened to this planet."

Sabine noticed that really got both Robb's and Theon's attention.

"You know what happened here?" Theon asked. "Tell us everything. Why was this place abandoned? Where are all the people? Why does no one in this galaxy remember this place?"

HK's photoreceptors dimmed for a minute moment as if he was hesitant to tell them. "Cautionary: Be warned, meatbags. Judging by your reaction, I can only presume that you might react in a negative manner to this tale," the droid paused for a bit. "Extrapolation: Well, where to begin? Ah, yes. Approximately three millennia ago, after the end of the Vong War, my last master and I traveled to this remote and desolate world."

"What was your purpose, here?" Robb asked him, his tone serious and grim.

"Statement: He…did not fully say. All he told me was that he was visited by what he called a 'seer' of sorts and that what we did here would affect a future generation some time down the line. Admittedly, I could not see it. All I could see was some dead planet, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't until we reached the ruins of an ancient library on the west coast that I finally understood the purpose of this mission."

"The Citadel..." Theon breathed, whilst Robb's eyes widened in recognition.

"The Citadel?" Ezra repeated, crossing his arms and leaning against the bulkhead.

Robb nodded. "Aye. It was the place where they trained the Order of Maesters- our scholars- and was home to the greatest library on the planet. It was quite restrictive, though. Only those in the order could access it."

"Sounds like what Kanan told me about the old Jedi Archives, before…well…. you know," the young Padawan recalled, only for the droid to pepper him with questions.

"Query: The Jedi Order is no more? Fascinating. I'd never thought I'd live to see the day those hypocritical peaceniks were wiped from the face of the galaxy-"

Robb coughed, and Sabine swore she saw Ezra's jaw tighten slightly. She had to suppress a smirk herself. It seems he was getting better at holding his tongue.

"Statement: Apologies. Now, where did I leave off? Ah, yes. Mostly, we discovered nothing but rotted books and scraps of paper, along with broken data cards and worn out holotapes. There was one thing that was intact, however. A holotable in the very center of the facility. It was on this device we learned what had transpired. Apparently, this world had been once been a bustling economic powerhouse, and controlled a sizable interstellar empire, though it was isolated from the Galactic Republic."

"Who controlled this hegemony?" Robb asked the droid

"Extrapolation: From what he holotable told us, it was the kings of House Stark, though, by that point in time, the planet and its colonies were a constitutional monarchy with a system of checks and balances, complete with its own bicameral parliament, no less." the droid informed them, and then looked at Robb. "Query: I assume you are related to these 'Starks'? You do share their surname, after all, and wear their same sigil on your armor."

Sabine felt nothing but pity for Robb as his face soured. "Yeah..." his voice came out barely above a whisper, "you might say that…"

"Commentary: Now, to continue my story. For thousands of years, this hegemon was left to its own devices, until the day the Sith Emperor Vitiate came, at the head of a massive fleet. The warmonger was hungry for conquest, and when he arrived at the borders of this kingdom, he demanded that they swear fealty to the Sith for all time, or be destroyed utterly. The people of Valaryos refused, with the Stark king telling the Emperor that 'The North Remembers, and never again will Valaryos bow in fear to tyrants and murderers.' And so, a long and bloody war began," he paused for a moment. "Extrapolation: It seemed that Vitiate was confident of victory, at first, but he had severely underestimated his foe, Eddard XXV Stark, or the Great Wolf, as he had become known to his people. Each time he sent an army to invade one of the Valarians' worlds, the Sith would be ensnared and crushed. Each time he sent a fleet to engage the Great Wolf, that fleet was ambushed and wiped out. Things had become desperate for the Emperor, and so he enacted a desperate plan- he would destroy all sentient life on Valaryos, in one fell swoop."

"How did he do this?" Theon asked, waving his mechanical hands around for effect. "It's fairly obvious that he succeeded."

"Answer: From what the holotable told us, it appeared to be some sort of 'virus bomb', a device that would unleash a biological agent targeting any lifeform that contained twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, precisely. Apparently, they planted this device near a location called the Fist of the First Men, and in the last recorded message on the hologram, the Valarians launched an assault on the Fist," the droid finished his tale. HK-47 looked around. "Obviously…they failed."

Robb lowered his head. "And if history is anything to go by, Vitiate erased all record of our people."

"Statement: It would seem so. Though, Vitiate did not entirely succeed in wiping out the Valarians completely. The holorecording did say that many from this continent did manage to be evacuated to the Republic before this bomb went off. After all, here you are, meatbag," the droid consoled them, though it rang hollow in Sabine's ears.

The bridge fell silent, again, and through the safety of her helmet, Sabine gauged the reactions of everyone in the room. Tears were streaming down Theon's face, Robb's fists were clenched at his sides, the knuckles turning white, Zeb was shaking his head, and Ezra had an expression of sorrow worn on his face.

As for herself, she felt nothing but anger and hatred towards the Sith. Robb and Theon's people, millions of them- no, scratch that, _billions_ of them, wiped out by those monsters. She was convinced the Sith would burn the galaxy down if it could mean that they would rule over the ashes for all eternity.

It was at that moment that Chopper warbled, excitedly.

Sabine let out a sigh of relief she didn't even know she had been holding. "Chop says power has been restored to the other ships, and that we can begin takeoff procedures, immediately."

"Statement: Oh, thank the Maker! Four thousand years of being on standby mode in that blasted submarine on this blasted planet, and I finally get to leave!" HK exclaimed in excitement.

Theon's head shot up. "Wait? You were in the submarine this entire damned time?" he asked the droid with an incredulous tone. He slowly turned to Zeb, an annoyed look on his face. "I thought you checked the bloody thing from port to stern!"

"I did!" Zeb defended himself. "How was I supposed to know there was a blasted secret compartment in there?"

"Alright, you two, can we focus, now?" Sabine found herself reprimanding. _Boys._ "We need to get this fleet to the surface."

Chopper warbled in the affirmative, and soon enough, Sabine felt the ship begin to stir. Sublight engines stirred to life, and they heard the water as it churned around them. Outside the viewports, the water was becoming lighter and lighter, indicating they were reaching the surface. Finally, after what seemed to be a few short moments, the _Katana_ and her brethren shot up out of the sea, like a pod of majestic whales coming up out of the deep for a breath of fresh air.

"Specter One, this is Specter Seven, how copy, over?" Robb keyed into his comm. At the other end, Hera's voice keyed in through the break, though something sounded…off…to Sabine, as though she sounded distant and…broken.

"Specter Seven, One. Looks like you succeeded," her voice was monotone, and tired. Sabine began to grow worried. Had something happened while they were gone? It couldn't be a miscarriage, could it? "We'll fly up there as soon as possible, over."

"Roger, Specter One. Specter Seven, out," Robb finished the conversation, his face grim. He looked at the rest of them. "Something's happened. I don't know what, but Hera's tone worries me. I fear something terrible has happened," he confessed. He closed his steel blue eyes for a moment, then opened them in calm determination. "We'll meet them down in the hangar in 15 minutes. For now, though, let's see if we can't get you fixed up." He said, pointing down at HK-47.

"Statement: I thought you meatbags would have never offered. But do pray tell; what is to prevent me from killing you?" The droid asked Zeb, who just hauled him onto his back.

"Hehe. Well, I'll just have to break you then, rustbucket. Provided, of course, you don't fall apart and deactivate first," Zeb mocked the droid

"Mockery: Oh, I'm quaking with fear, purple monkey," HK countered.

As the two argued on their way towards what Sabine presumed to be the maintenance bay, with Chopper doing his best impression of a chortle as he followed behind them.

As Robb and Theon went off to one corner of the bridge to discuss their discovery of the fate of this world, Sabine opted to saunter on over to the viewport and gaze at Valaryos' night sky. It was a clear night, tonight, and due to the lack of artificial lighting, the moon and stars shone brightly. The constellations here were strange, she mused as she took off her helmet and breathed in the now-functioning processed air. She wondered if one of those stars could be Mandalore? No, she realized. Mandalore was on the opposite side of the galaxy. Coruscant…yeah, she could probably see the primary star of that particular den of vipers, but not home.

Not Krownest.

"Mind if I join ya?" a familiar, warm voice called out to her. She turned to see her best friend standing right behind her, his arms crossed and his trademark grin plastered on his face.

She smiled back at him, all her troubles momentarily forgotten. "Not at all," she offered, motioning for him to take a place beside her. He obliged her, coming to stand on her left, a little closer than what she was used to. She didn't mind though- as a matter of fact, it was actually kinda nice.

"Beautiful view," he spoke, staring out at the night sky. "Whenever I had to clear my thoughts back on Lothal, I'd often head out during the night and gaze at the moons," he chuckled. "I had always dreamed of leaving my life of poverty behind and becoming a spacer, exploring the stars and whatnot."

"Well, here you are!" she joked, waving to the ship behind her. "Wish come true. How'd ya like it?"

"Wasn't everything I'd hoped, in some regards," he jokingly admitted. "War, famine, death. Those were the things sometimes I'd wish I hadn't seen. But overall, taken Kanan's offer was the best decision I've ever made," he admitted, and his voice grew softer. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have met any of you."

She smiled softly in return. "I'm glad to know you, too, Ez," she confessed as she adopted another smirk. "I mean, who else would I get to chase around with hair dye?"

Ezra laughed. "Heh. True enough, I suppose, he relented, looking back out at the stars. "Do you ever think of home, Bean?"

She sighed. "Every damned day. Sometimes I wonder what my mother will say to me when I'll return to Krownest. What my brother and father will say, too. Will they still regard me as a traitor?"

Ezra shook his head. "They're fools if they still do. They haven't seen you grow up, become a leader and a warrior. We have. I have," he said, turning to face her, fully, and Sabine was now becoming aware of just how close they really were. Mere inches apart, really.

"You really believe that?" she whispered. She found herself getting lost in his electric blue eyes, and in those eyes, she found something, something that was making her heart skip beats and her knees to become wobbly.

"Wouldn't have bent my knee before you if I believed otherwise," he confessed.

"Ezra…" she breathed. Slowly, she found herself leaning forward towards him, their bodies coming closer until they were practically touching. Her mind was a jumble- a part of her wanted to break it off, call it a mistake. But more and more, that part of her was being silenced by the voice that told her to give in to this.

And she obliged it.

She shut her eyes as she leaned her face up and forward, and kissed him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she tasted his lips- it was the taste of hummus and grain, of hard living on the streets and in war. She felt her face being cupped by his warm, calloused hands as they deepened the kiss, and she began to moan into his mouth as their tongues fought one another for dominance. She started to rub against him, and she felt a stirring inside her, as she felt Ezra's manhood strain against the confines of his trousers…

"Ahem..."

The two immediately broke off the kiss to find Robb staring at them, an impeccable, shit-eating grin on his face.

"Well, aren't we a bit busy on this moonlight night? Shall I fetch you two some bonbons? Mayhaps some Arbor gold wine and a steak dinner?"

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked him, parts mortified and parts peeved that he would just burst into their private matters like that.

"Long enough," he replied, still wearing that damnable grin, while she noticed Theon in the back trying not to laugh. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that Hera and the others will be here, soon. Let's head to the hangar bay."

Sabine nodded, still a bit flustered. "Yeah. Uh, sure. Whatever you say," she rambled, walking away from the bridge quickly. Away from Ezra.

Why had she done that? She could have refused, could she? Could she have not? Was it right to kiss him? What would it mean for her in the future? For him?

All she knew right now was that her feelings and her mind were a mess…

* * *

Hera did not look good, Sabine decided.

Scratch that- she looked like absolute _shit_ \- as if she had just gotten done weeping for something. As a matter of fact, both Kanan and Fenn also looked grim and tired.

"Alright, Hera," Robb began. "What's going on?" He got to the point of the matter, as always.

She didn't say anything, just brought out a holochip and plugged it into Chopper, who began to play the message. Immediately, Commander Sato's face appeared on the hologram, his face forlorn and resigned.

"Captain Syndulla," the recording began, and already Sabine had a gut-wrenching feeling something bad had happened. What he said next only confirmed it. "Chopper Base is compromised. At approximately 0450, one standard day prior, we discovered an Imperial infiltrator droid in our midst. We successfully managed to disable the infiltrator and destroy his ship, but unfortunately, AP-5 informed us that if the droid does not report to its command within 24 hours, Thrawn will know the exact location of our base. I have ordered the evacuation of all personnel and supplies to Yavin Four, to General Dodanna's base. You will rendezvous with your squadron there, and it will be there that you deliver the Katana Fleet. Do not use it to strike Lothal, for our enemy presumably knows of our plans, now." It was at this the commander swallowed. "I will not let him discover this deception, however. I will remain behind with _Phoenix Home_ and a few other ships from our squadron, and fight the Grand Admiral for as long as I am able. You are in complete command of Phoenix Squadron now, General Syndulla. Good fortune, and may the Force be with you, always. Commander Sato, for the final time, out."

The room fell silent. All those months of planning, all the sweat, and the blood, all those painstaking missions to secure supplies for the strike on the Lothal weapons factories…

It was all for naught.

Ashes.

Dust.

And it was all thanks to one certain cold, calculating, and frightfully brilliant Chiss, who always seemed one step ahead of them no matter where they turned.

Sabine gritted her teeth. Damn Thrawn. Damn him to every hell that existed and then some.

"So, what do we do, know?" Zeb broke the silence, asking the question on everyone's mind. Everyone turned to Hera, who had always been a source of strength and guidance for them. If there was one person who could pull them out of a bad situation and deliver them to victory it was her. Always her.

It appeared, though, that now Hera was broken. Her head hung low, and a hand was held to her stomach. Then, she raised her head, her lekku twitching, and in her eyes, Sabine saw something that inspired her and frightened her a bit.

It was the look of cold determination and raw fury.

"We are going to get this fleet to Yavin Four," she began, low and dangerous. "We'll regroup and rethink our strategy. We'll help Sabine rally her clan. And then…then we're going to make that blue son of a whore pay for everything he's done to us, tenfold."

Everyone in their room yelled or affirmed their support for their leader. Well, everyone except HK, that is.

"There is still the matter of what's going on at the Fist of the First Men," Robb informed them. "If what our new acquaintance, here, says is true, there could very well be a weapon of unfathomable power buried there. Imperials or no, we have to assume that whoever is digging there is no friend of ours." He bit his lip. "I move that we split up. Kanan, Hera, and Chopper take the fleet to Yavin Four, while the rest of us stay behind to destroy this weapon if it indeed exists."

Hera shot him a look. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to leave half my crew here to die."

"Hera, I know you don't want to," Robb began, his voice growing firmer, "but you have the life of your child to look after, now. As does Kanan. Besides, the kids can handle themselves. You know this, otherwise, you would have never sent them on solo missions prior to this."

Hera's jaw tightened, then, she relented. "Alright, Robb. We'll do it your way. We'll stay on the ship and direct the fleet to Yavin." She turned to Sabine and Ezra, and her voice became softer. "You two, stay safe, and promise you'll come back to me in one piece?"

"Come on, Hera. It's us! We'll be on Yavin Four before you can say 'nerfherder'!" Ezra joked though Sabine could tell behind that jest was an air of seriousness.

"Besides, I don't think Rau would let me die just yet," she added to the joke. "We'll stay safe, Hera. I promise."

Suddenly, she found herself wrapped in a warm embrace, and felt tears streaming onto one of her shoulder plates. Hera broke the hug and gave them both a tearful smile. "I am so very proud of both of you."

"As am I," Kanan affirmed, placing a hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Remember what I taught the both of you, and keep each other safe."

Ezra nodded. "We will, master."

With that, the crew that had elected to destroy the supposed weapon boarded the _Starbird_ , with Zeb bringing up the rear.

"Statement: I believe as the Jedi of old use to say…may the Force be with you," HK bode farewell.

"And to you, rustbucket," Zeb called back, as the ramp to the _Starbird_ closed, and Sabine slid into the pilot's seat to begin takeoff procedures, after making sure all crew, supplies, and weapons were accounted for.

"Coordinates to the Fist?" she asked Theon, who had just gotten done communicating with his frigate in orbit.

"Four Gamma Falcon Julius One-One-Niner-Five Two-Tree-One-Six," he informed her. "It's about a hundred clicks north of the Wall. Big mesa, can't miss it."

"Roger that, then," she replied as they flew out of the _Katana's_ hangar bay and into the atmosphere.

Ezra slid into the seat next to her, his smile softened by what she assumed to be the same uncertainty she felt regarding where their relationship was heading…

"So, ready for another adventure?" he asked, looking forward towards the first rays of dawn to the east.

"Always am, Ez." she softly admitted. "Always am."

* * *

 **Well, that took longer than I expected.**

 **At first, I was unsure about including the kiss scene. But then, I decided, we need to get this relationship moving, somewhat.**

 **So, yeah, Valaryos was wiped out in a conflict with the resurgent Sith Empire. Now, what does this mean for the future regarding Robb? Well, he already despises the Empire, and now seeing what the Sith are truly capable of first hand will most likely only increase his resolve to see them brought down and destroyed once and for all.**

 **Yes, I understand Vitiate could absorb the Force energy of entire planets. However, that would have turned Valaryos into a dead husk like Nathema or Ziost, and wouldn't have fitted for the purposes of my story. Hence, the virus bomb- which, by the way, is a rechargeable weapon, hence why whoever is digging at the Fist is searching for it.**

 **Now, why is HK falling apart and misremembering things? Well, four thousand years tends to take a toll, no?**

 **And about what happened- Well, you see, Zeb and Chopper weren't there to defeat the infiltrator droid and cleverly send it back to its home fleet as a ticking time bomb to throw Thrawn off their trail. Already, the events of my story are affecting what happens normally in canon. How much shall change? You shall see…**

 **Next chapter- the Battle for the Fist of the First Men. I will warn you right now, the next two chapters will be dark and angsty.**

 **Until next time!**


	25. Ezra V

The land beyond the giant ice wall- or what remained of it- was kriffing _cold_ , Ezra thought as another blast of wind tore through his thermal coat and chilled him to the bone.

Compared to this, Winterfell might have been a tropical paradise.

"I'd say you get used to the cold up here," Theon was commenting as they made their way across the frozen wastes towards the Fist of the First Men, which was about five clicks away. "But truthfully, you never really do."

"Forgive my Huttese," the young Jedi commented through chattering teeth, "but how in the living _kriff_ did you manage to survive out here?"

"Almost forgot you lived most your life in a warm and sunny world," Theon joked. It seemed that out of all of them, only Ezra was the only one to do any whining about it. The rest were trudging along to their destination without much discomfort. "Secret is to keep moving. Friction provides warmth, and the more of it, the warmer you'll be."

"It's like Lund used to say," Robb added. "Walking's good, fighting's better, sex is best."

"Ugh," Theon grimaced. "At least you didn't repeat what he actually said for that last part. I swear to the Drowned God, that man has the crudest language I've ever heard for an intelligence minister."

"He was a former crime boss before that, or so I was told," Robb explained. "Goes quite a way to explain why his language is so…refined."

Ezra was lost. "Uh…you two mind filling me in on who this 'Lund' character is?"

"Duke Thrakas Lund," Robb answered first, keeping at a steady pace. "Minister of Arcadian Intelligence and one of the chief advisors to King Lysandus Beniko. He's probably one of the most powerful men in the entire Rim, and the fact of that chafes slugs like Jabba to no end…or so he claims."

"I thought Arcadia was ruled by the Hutts," Sabine interjected, her voice sounding muffled through her helmet, as always.

"Not really," Theon corrected, as another gust of wind picked up. "Arcadia is technically under the sovereignty of the Hutt Council, but in truth it is semi-autonomous. They supply the Hutts with the military strength to keep the Empire out of Hutt Space, while the Hutts supply them with fuel, foodstuffs, and repulsorlift coils. Mutually beneficial symbiosis, in other words."

"Symbiosis and beneficial are synonyms," Sabine deadpanned. Ezra had to laugh at that. Then, his thoughts drifted to last night.

A part of him still could not believe that they had kissed. His wildest dream come true…and he was confused about the whole thing. Did she really mean it? What did it mean for their relationship? Were they still just friends, or were they something more, now? As far as he could tell, though, she was just as confused about it as he was.

 _But you did feel something from her that time, didn't you,_ he reminded himself. _You clearly felt her want and her lust._

Good luck getting her to admit it, though, he thought. If one thing about Sabine remained constant, it was that she was headstrong and willful…and an overall tough nut to crack.

He snapped himself out of his musings when he spotted it in the distance, through the blinding wind and snow; a large mesa, covered in snow, and around this mesa were buildings, mostly Imperial prefab barracks and research structures, though a few were far, far older, and judging by the huge tunnel boring through it, there was digging equipment.

"Welcome, lads, to the Fist of the First Men," Theon spoke, as they all found some cover nearby or laid in the cold snow in order not to be detected. "Sabine, can you see anything?"

Ezra's best friend and…girlfriend, maybe…pulled down her rangefinder antenna and began to scan the area.

"Not picking anything up on the motion tracker. Nothing on thermal, either. It's like the entire base is abandoned, yet…" she trailed off. "There is definitely something going on in that mesa. I'm picking up a faint seismic reading. It correlates to modern heavy digging equipment. There's definitely someone or something in that tunnel."

Robb shook his head. "Well, we aren't going to find out sitting out here. Let's move out, three meters spread. Make sure your weapons are primed and check your corners. We can't afford to fall into an ambush."

"Roger," they all replied in near-unison, and so broke from cover and carefully advanced towards the Fist. As they inched their way closer and closer, Ezra could see signs that a battle had taken place here…and recently, at that. Carbon scoring was everywhere, as were pocket marks where shrapnel from grenades and rocket launchers had peppered the buildings. All around were discarded blasters and helmets. He stopped to pick one up. It looked almost like a stormtrooper helmet, though it was black through and through, lacking the distinctive "mouth" and with a visor that was tinted green instead of onyx.

And there were blood splatters, everywhere he looked.

"What the hell happened here?" Robb asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "Very few things could overrun a detachment of deathtroopers, let alone an entire battalion of Imperial Special Forces. It would have to take at least a regiment to overrun these positions."

"Hm, and the gear's been completely discarded, as well," Zeb pointed out. "No pirate or rebel in his right mind would discard weapons and armor. There's something fishy going on here."

"Yeah…" Theon trailed off as they came closer to the tunnel. It was then, Ezra felt it.

The cold….the unnatural chill that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up every time he felt it.

The Dark Side of the Force.

"There's something evil, here, guys…" he warned, gripping his lightsaber a little tighter.

"Whatever it is, I'm guessing was responsible for attacking the base," Zeb observed dryly.

"Rogue Dark Jedi, perhaps?" Theon opined.

"Even if it was a Dark Jedi, Sabine and I would have picked him up on IR," Robb pointed out, as he motioned towards the tunnel. "Noise and light discipline, everyone. Sabine, you're on point. Find that source of digging you found, earlier."

"Copy that," she whispered. Everyone had their weapons low and at the ready, be they blasters or lightsabers. Slowly, they stalked through the dark, cavernous tunnel, the sound of running machinery growing closer, and closer, reverberating off the cavern walls each time it tore of another piece of stone. As the light outside the cavern grew dimmer, the team spotted a light in the distance before them; industrial grade fluorescing lights, to be more precise. Lights that had seen better days, it seemed, as they continued to flicker on and off at an annoyingly constant rate.

"We're getting close…" Sabine announced. "The dig site should be right around the bend, here."

As they rounded the bend, sure enough, there was the drill, churning away at the stone and rubble that was blocking it from whatever the people here were seeking.

Speaking of which…

Oddly enough, there were people around here- hundreds of them, milling this way and that, clearing rubble, digging through loose stone, but something felt off to Ezra. For one, these guys were wearing a mixture of armor, ranging from Imperial to stuff he had never seen before. For another, they all looked…sickly. Pale.

Dead…

"Uh, guys?" Sabine spoke up through the speakers in her helmet. "These guys aren't reading on thermal, and I can't get their heartbeat."

"What do you mean you can't get their heartbeat?" Zeb whispered furiously as they aimed their weapons at the apparently oblivious enemy. "Every living karking thing has a heartbeat. You're telling me that these guys don't exist?"

"Well, obviously they exist!" she shot back. "I'm just telling what I'm reading on my scopes!"

"Cut the chatter, you two!" Robb barked. It was at that moment, one of the "people" turned and looked at them, and everything suddenly clicked for him.

 _Oh no_.

The thing that stared at him had once been an Imperial SpecForce trooper, but now was something else entirely. Its face appeared molted and rotten, and it stared at them with bright blue, depthless eyes.

"Run…" Theon whispered, his eyes gone wide in recognition and horror, as what Ezra presumed to be the leader of these corpses start approaching them. Unlike the corpses, this thing was clearly not undead, and when Ezra got a closer look…

It was the same kind of evil being from his nightmare. The ice-skinned demon with white hair and beard, and glowing blue eyes.

"What?" Sabine asked.

"RUN!" Theon yelled this time, and Ezra didn't need convincing, there. Nor did the rest of the team, as they all bolted out of there faster than a nexu, and behind them, Ezra heard the shrillest screeching he had ever had the displeasure to hear.

Out of the cavern they ran, swift as bats out of the deep, while the hordes of hell were hot on their heels, screaming and hollering, obviously hungry for their flesh and blood.

"What the kriff are those things?" Sabine yelled as she blindly tossed a thermal detonator behind her, the delayed explosion reverberating throughout the mouth of the cavern.

"Wights!" Theon answered as they ran through the buildings. "We need to find cover, and fucking quick! What's the most secure building out here?"

"That would have to be the armory!" Sabine replied. "But I don't particularly feel like accidentally getting caught in an explosion now, especially if these things know how to wield weapons!"

"Oh, they know how, alright!" Theon responded. As if to highlight his point, a blaster bolt sailed over their heads, impacting a research station in front of them. "Fortunately, they don't aim very well. Unfortunately-,"

"-they can put down a lot of fire!" Zeb cursed. "We can't stay out here forever! We're gonna get swarmed!"

"There!" Ezra yelled, drawing everyone's attention. Before him was probably the tallest building in the camp, and probably one of the most well defended, though it only had one way in or out asides from the rooftop.

The barracks.

"Good a place as any!" Robb barked through the howling wind. "Everyone inside, quick!"

They did not need any convincing, for as the snow fell hard and the cold wind blew bitter, Zeb burst into the barracks, the others following close behind.

"Cover the windows, and barricade the entrance!" Robb barked. As Sabine, Zeb, and Theon started to build cover, overturning beds, couches, and crates to create a makeshift wall of sorts, Ezra reached out with the Force, and found what he was looking for- a locker section about two meters wide. He pulled it off the bolts securing it to the wall, and set it sideways along the large durasteel doors, barring it and buying time for the defenders. He quickly jumped behind the makeshift wall, just as the roar of the wights grew louder and louder.

"Any advice, Greyjoy?" Zeb asked as he slapped a power pack into his bo-rifle and took aim at the door.

"They're tough to kill, for one," he answered grimly, as he also took aim with his own rifle. "My advice is to aim for the head at full power. Pop their melons like acne, and they crumble. You aim center mass, they'll keep on coming. You can also set them alight or kill them with either obsidian or Valyrian steel."

"Good thing I have the latter, then," Robb sardonically remarked, just as the door began to pound. "Theon, you think a lightsaber will work?"

"Only one way to find out, I guess," He blithely remarked. "Robb, can you try to contact Rau? See if we can't get some gods-damned CAS?"

"Yeah. Want me to contact the _Remembrance_ while I'm at it?"

"Not yet. After we get clear from here, we'll blow this place down to the seventh hell."

The pounding on the door grew louder, and louder, as the wind outside howled like a screeching banshee. Everywhere, the sounds of clicking off safeties could be heard, while he ignited his lightsaber, it's brilliant emerald hue provided a stark contrast to the red emergency lights illuminating the otherwise darkened bed bay.

 _Doom._

 _Doom._

 _ **Doom.**_

 _ **Doom.**_

 _ **DOOM.**_

 _ **DOOM!**_

With a final push, the door and barricade gave way, unable to hold against the strain of four hundred screaming undead warriors, as if the gates of hell themselves were blown open by unholy forces.

There was no need for commands to open fire here. No need for orders. Everyone knew what was at stake, here- the lives of countless trillions…

And each others'.

When the first few wights hopped over the barricade, the rebels opened hellfire upon their undead foe. Ruby red bolts filled the air, with many shots striking true, and the hordes of the underworld fell by the dozen. But they just kept coming, for each wight they brought down, five filled their place, and many of the rebels' shots hit them in the torso or one of the limbs. Fatal or debilitating wounds for mortal men, perhaps, but for those already dead? It was as if a pebble had hit them. Before long, the undead horde was starting to reach the barricades.

"Grenade out!" Zeb shouted, and threw a thermal detonator at the horde. A second later, the grenade exploded, right in the middle of the swarm, and a fireball engulfed those undead unlucky enough to be caught in or near the five-meter blast radius. Most caught within the blast zone were reduced to ash almost immediately, and many more wights caught on fire, which caused them to scream and push through their comrades to get away from the flames, inevitably setting other wights on fire in the process.

Still, it was not enough. More and more wights kept pouring in through the door, and soon, they were at the barricade, even as Sabine and Zeb threw detonator upon detonator at the horde.

It was time for bloody butcher's work.

The first wight that reached the wall was ancient, almost a skeleton. If this had been another time, Ezra would have reckoned that this was one of the Valarian soldiers that had assaulted the Fist of the First Men millennia prior. Right now, though, he had to concentrate on survival, and so bisected the ghastly being, from collarbone to diaphragm.

It did not rise again after that.

"Hey, guess what?" he shouted, just as he stabbed another wight wearing Imperial armor. "Lightsabers put them down!"

"Good to know!" Sabine responded, as she holstered her blasters and drew her Darksaber. Together, the Mandalorian and the Jedi went to work, synchronizing with one another, covering each other's weaknesses and bolstering the other's strengths. Together, the two cut down one wight after the other, green and black blades working as one. Off to the left, Ezra noticed out of the corner of his eye that Robb had dropped his rifle and drew Longclaw, cutting down the undead monsters with wild fury. Zeb had picked up an old flamethrower, burning away the corruption in the fires of conflagration, while Theon had taken cover, trying to coordinate an airstrike via Rau and the _Remembrance_.

"Alright!" Theon suddenly shouted, his voice rising above the din of shrieks and growls. "Our evac's heading this way! ETA two mikes! After that, we're going to level this place to the fucking foundation!" He waved. "Fall back to the roof! Fall back!"

He needed no argument there. As everyone hightailed it up the stairs to the roof, Ezra turned and pushed with the Force, throwing back the hordes of wights a good thirty meters or so back.

He cursed to himself as he ran up the stairs to catch up with the others. Why didn't he think of that before?

As soon as they reached the roof, he was immediately struck by how much _colder_ it had gotten, and how much darker, as it seemed as if a blizzard had dropped right on top of them.

"Oh, fuck…" he heard Robb squeak out. He ran over to where he was, right towards the edge of the building, and saw what they all saw…

The dead had them surrounded, and there were dozens of them.

Hundreds.

"Theon!" Robb suddenly barked, just as Ezra heard footsteps coming up the stairs they had just left. "Where's our fucking artillery support?"

"I can't get a hold of my damn ship!" Theon snapped back, just as Zeb popped the first wight who shot it's head up over the hatch. "The weather is interfering with the comms! We need a clear signal before we can get arty!"

"Well, we better pray that this blizzard lets up, or we're all proper fucked, then, aren't we?" Robb blithely retorted, as the undead forwent the option to use the stairs, and instead opted to simply scale the building itself, using their own bodies as step ladders.

"Maybe not. Rau is on his way, after all." Sabine opined as she threw her last detonator into the oncoming horde. "And the _Starbird_ has some pretty significant ordinance, after all. Maybe a CAS run or two will buy us the time we need to escape."

"Aye…" Robb conceded. "That might work..."

It was then Ezra felt it; a whisper in the Force, an urgent warning telling him to look ahead, and he did.

As he did, he saw a spherical, silver-colored shape sailing overhead towards Sabine's position, red lights blinking in ever rapid succession. In horror, he realized what it was; a grenade, thrown by one of the wights.

Time slowed for him, as he quickly considered his options. There was no time to throw it back- the shrapnel would hit her, anyway. He couldn't push Sabine out of the way without the risk of her falling off the side of the building and into the hungry undead horde, either. That left only one option.

He reached out with the Force and pulled the grenade towards himself.

Suddenly changing trajectory, the grenade landed a meter and a half away from his feet. Not two seconds later, it exploded.

He felt himself flying, as his ears rung and his sight turned stark white before he felt himself landing on his back. As the ringing subsided and the colors and reality of the world came breaking through the white, Ezra tasted copper in his mouth, and felt a stinging pain across his face, running from the left side of his forehead to the bottom of his right cheek. He tried to raise his left arm, only to find nothing there. He tried to get up, and although he found his right leg responded, he could not feel his left.

Where were …they?

He tried to look, to see if his limbs were still attached, but he was rapidly losing the energy to even move his head. Was he bleeding out? Was his left leg and arm gone? He didn't know, and right now, all he wanted to do was to sleep, to dream…

As he looked up to the sky, he saw something break through the clouds. What was it? It looked like Valaryos' sun. Was it midday already? Why was the sun…why was it tinted red?

He shut his eyes for a moment. It could have been because of the smoke, he supposed. Or maybe…he smelled salt. Why did he smell salt? They were nowhere near the sea…

He opened his eyes one more time, and the last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness, was Sabine's tear-filled face, and the last thing he heard was her calling his name in terror and worry…

* * *

 **A/N: Told ya I was gonna make it dark.**

 **Truthfully, at first, I had a different enemy in mind. Who it is, I cannot say, yet, but let's just say they have a hand in what's going on in galactic events in my story. Plus, I needed the heroes to encounter the greatest threat the galaxy has ever seen. The true darkness. The ancient enemy, and the only foe that matters.**

 **So, it looks like Ezra just had two of his limbs blown off, and is possibly bleeding out in the cold, harsh climate of Northern Westeros, surrounded by friends and enemies, both.**

 **Will Rau arrive in time with the** _ **Starbird**_ **? Will Ezra managed to be saved? Will everyone be able to make it out? Where is the karking** _ **Remembrance**_ **at? We will see.**

 **Until the next time.**


	26. The Honor Guard

The explosion caught him off guard.

He looked off to the left and saw horror. Ezra, his brother…his annoying, yet lovable little brother…had caught the brunt of a grenade. The young Jedi had been sent flying a good five meters, landing on his back. Zeb and Sabine rushed over to help him, the wights trying to assail their position momentarily forgotten, and what he saw shocked and angered him in equal measure.

Most of Ezra's left limbs were completely shredded, the areas below the humerus and the femur completely gone, respectively. His left side, from underneath his armpit to his waist, was covered in lacerations and second-degree burns, and across his face was a bloody gash, running diagonally from left-to-right, beginning at the temple and ending at his cheek.

"Ezra! Please, stay with me!" Sabine was begging him, as she hastily applied tourniquets to his severed extremities. "Don't die on me, you _di'kut_. Please, for the love of the _manda_ , don't die! You hear me, Bridger? Don't…karking…die!"

He saw tears streaming down Sabine's face as she was working on Ezra, who had gone unconscious from the blood loss. Karabast, where the kark was Rau?

"Seven fucking hells!" Robb cursed, as he skewered another wight coming over the top with Longclaw. "I promised Hera that I'd get the kids back in one piece, and so far, I've fucking failed in that regard!"

"Don't think about it, Stark!" Zeb shouted, turning around to burn a few more wights who had scaled the building.

" _Specter Seven, this is Concord Lead, over_ ," he heard Robb's comm go off. " _Starbird's ETA is thirty seconds. How copy, over?_ "

"Concord Lead, Specter Seven _,_ " Robb breathed, and Zeb distinctly heard the relief in his voice. "Bout fucking time your ass showed up!" He ducked as another blaster bolt sailed over their heads. Good thing these things didn't know how to aim worth a damn. "Listen, we've got one wounded in action and in need of urgent care, and we're about to be overrun by these undead wankers!" he practically yelled into the comm. "So, don't fucking expect me to send up a nine-line or a fire mission! We're kind of pressed for time, here!"

" _Roger, Specter Seven,_ " Rau answered back, and in the distance, Zeb noticed the _Starbird_ coming into view. " _Standby. Gonna blow them down with proton warheads."_

"Negative, Concord Lead. Do not use torpedoes. I say again, do not use torpedoes. Not unless you want the building to collapse. Make a few runs with the autocannons, and then come up onto the roof, over," Robb was quick to answer.

" _Copy, Specter Seven. Concord, out,"_ Rau ended the transmission, and not a second later, a terrifying _brrrt_ ripped through the air, as thousands of heavy laser cannon rounds impacted the mass of wights scaling the building, shredding most and setting quite a few on fire. The _Starbird_ made a few more passes, each one cutting down the number of wights by more than half until maybe five dozen remained out of the original four hundred. After it completed its passes, the cerulean-and-cream _Komr'k_ -class fighter/bomber landed gracefully as ever on the far end of the rooftop, it's wings rising vertically as if it were a majestic eagle.

The landing ramp was lowered, and Rau appeared, his blaster rifle in hand, firing away at the dead creatures that were trying to kill them, still. Out of the ship, the two teens' pet wolves came bolting forth, with the black one they called 'Storm' running straight for his master. When the wolf pup got to Ezra, unconscious and as pale as milk, he started to whine, begging along with Sabine for his master to get up.

Zeb had only experienced such a heart-wrenching scene once, and that was surviving the devastation of his home world and the death of his king. _Ashla above, let Ezra survive_ , he thought.

"Everyone, let's move!" Robb barked. "Sabine, Theon, get Ezra aboard the ship, now!"

The White Raven and the Iron-Fist, in that moment, were lightening to Zeb, scooping up the comatose, amputated Ezra and swiftly moving him into the _Starbird_ , the wolves hot on their heels…

Wait…

Ezra's saber!

He threw down the flamethrower he had been carrying, and ran to grab Ezra's lightsaber, not wanting to leave it out in this cold, desolate waste.

What was it that Kanan was always saying to Ezra? That a lightsaber was a Jedi's life or somesuch? He figured the blind Knight would be even more pissed off at them if he left it out here for these…creatures.

He spotted the saber, and upon reaching it, he grimaced. Lightsabers were durable, he supposed, but not durable enough to withstand the sixteen-hundred-degree fireball of a thermal detonator. Picking up the melted, ruined sword, he sighed. At least the green kyber crystal was still intact. He supposed the kid could reuse it in that strange new lightsaber he picked up in Winterfell. Gods knew if that thing worked, though…

"ZEB!" Robb yelled at him. "We need to get moving, now!"

He turned and was about to respond in the affirmative, but then something caught his eye, and his words died in his throat.

Climbing out of the building and onto the rooftop, presumably to finish them off, was none other than the icy, alien monster Zeb assumed was commanding the whole thing.

He snarled, and unslung his bo-rifle, activating the quarterstaff function of it, the two ends blazing with golden energy. Demon or not, he would not let this thing even try to hurt his brothers and sister, not while he still drew breath.

"Robb, get out of here!" he yelled, his green eyes fixed on the demon's bright blue ones. "I'll handle Doctor Freeze, here," he said as he drew himself into a fighting stance. "Alright, kriff-bait. Let's dance!"

The thing just stared at him, not saying a word, instead choosing to draw it's strange, deathly looking sword-staff, and likewise adopting its own fighting stance, beckoning the son of Lasan to engage him. Zeb was all too happy to oblige.

The former captain of the Honor Guard made the first move, swinging his bo-rifle in a downward arc. The creature with white hair just simply sidestepped his blow, as if it were already bored with Zeb. The Lasat growled. He would not be bested by some punk monster who looked like a frozen old geezer! He persisted in the attack, and every time he swung, the monster just dodged his blows.

Until he didn't.

Zeb roared and saw his opening. Raising his bo-rifle high above his head, he brought it down upon the creature's head, and it was at this moment the monster decided to block for the first time with its sword-staff…

The bo-rifle was revered among the Lasat. It was a weapon of great power and responsibility, wielded only by the Royal Family and their sworn honor guard. To receive one was a great honor, and be given one by a dying warrior an even greater honor.

And with this in mind, Garazeb Orrelios brought down the mighty weapon upon the blade of the demon's ice-sword…

Only to see it completely shatter.

His eyes widened in shock and horror. No. Nothing could destroy a bo-rifle. Not even lightsabers or swords made of Mandalorian steel could slice through them. So how could this creature's sword do it? Such questions were hitting the now-mortified Zeb, so much so that he failed to notice that he had opened himself up for an attack.

And he paid the price for it.

The monster, reacting quickly to the opportunity presenting itself, turned and thrust its blade straight into Zeb's abdomen, slicing through his intestines and coming back out the other end.

His eyes widened as his vision turned red for a brief, antagonizing, pain-filled moment, and in that moment, he could hear nothing, not even Robb calling his name in alarm. He slowly collapsed to his knees, as the monster withdrew the ice-cold blade from his stomach and prepared for another strike, this time aimed at his head, and all Zeb could do was wait for the end.

But…it was not the end.

For at that moment, Robb appeared behind the creature, swinging Longclaw in a downward strike. The black-armored being barely managed to block the blow in time, and it's neutral, cruel expression turned into one of surprise and fright as this sword did not shatter like Zeb's bo-rifle had.

The duel itself only lasted a few, mere seconds. Although this thing was a good swordsman, it was clearly outmatched by Robb, who after a few parries, exploited an opening in the beasts defenses and slashed through it diagonally, from left to right. The ice-demon, much to Zeb's tired surprise, shattered into millions of shards, the tiny pieces of ice blowing away with the wind and snow. All around them, the undead fell silent.

They fell, period.

The fight had ended.

They were victorious.

So, why did it not feel like a victory?

He coughed and looked down at the wound in his stomach, which was now turning black with frostbite and leaking blood and bile. Karabast. Right…he was dying, and if they didn't get out of here, now, Ezra might die, as well.

As Robb would say, things looked right and proper _fucked._

He coughed, as Robb came to help him up. "Karabast, _hack_ , done in by a freak. I guess… _hack_ …I guess there are worse ways to go."

Robb shook his head. "You aren't dying, yet. We'll get you onboard and patch you up, you hear me."

Now, Zeb shook his head. "There's no time, Robb. Blood's… _hack_ …pooling into my organs, now. Get out of here, save Ezra. Get the _Remembrance_ to blow this place to kingdom come, _hack_."

Robb sighed. "The _Remembrance_ is gone, Zeb," he told him with a tired, sad voice, his hand clasped in his brother's grasp. "That's why we could not contact them," he pointed up to the sky. "The Imperials sent a Star Destroyer to investigate the loss of communication of their base. We can't stay here."

"No! _Hack._ No," Zeb countered, trying to stand up on legs that didn't seem to want to. "We… _hack_ …we can't let them get a hold of this weapon. Who the kriff knows who their gonna use it on…" he thought for a moment. The _Starbird_ has proton torpedoes…

"I… _cough…_ I can detonate one of the proton warheads, manually. It'd be better than… _cough cough_ …dying from blood loss and frostbite," he said, smiling weakly. He knew no matter what Robb said, he was dying. No amount of medical care could save him, now; the monster's twisted ice-blade had seen to that. But if he could use the time he had left to save his comrades, then he would use it.

Robb was silent for a moment, as tears rolled forth from the Grey Wolf's blue eyes and down his cheeks. Zeb saw his jaw clench in frustration and grief, and he let out a shaky breath. He let go of Zeb's hand and keyed in something on his comm pad. Not a moment later, one of the proton torpedoes dropped to the ground from the torpedo bay.

"These things have a five-kiloton maximum yield," he spoke solemnly. "But to make sure the weapon is destroyed…"

"I have to… _ack_ …make sure to detonate the warhead near the bomb," Zeb finished. "I know, Robb." He clasped his hand one more time. "Take care of Ezra for me, brother. And if you see Kallus, tell him… _ack_ …tell him I forgive him. For everything."

Robb nodded, and pulled him into a quick embrace, before turning and getting on board the _Starbird_. Zeb watched in absolute silence as the fighter/transport took off, the Mandalorian ship becoming a smaller and smaller speck in the sky before disappearing altogether.

 _Ashla above_ , he thought as he picked up the warhead, _make sure they are safe_.

* * *

He trekked through the cold, bitter snow, carrying the warhead on his shoulders, slowly making his way towards the tunnel, and towards the bomb. Already, he felt the numbing freeze and stomach wound begin to sap his energy, making him more and more tired and bringing him closer to death's waiting embrace.

He grunted. He would not fail. Everything was now depending on him. He wasn't a fool, of course. No songs would be sung of this deed. No tales told around the campfire or recounted in cantinas about how Garazeb the Bold sacrificed himself for the cause and for his adopted family. It didn't matter to him, though. His days of glory-seeking were in the distant past, killed when the Empire took his homeworld from him by force. Now, all that was left was his desire to keep his family safe, to succeed in protecting the Ghost and her crew, when he had failed to protect the King and his family.

He threw up and collapsed to his knees upon entering the cave, his legs having gone out from underneath him. Around the edges of his vision, a dark haze was creeping in. Pounding his fist on the ground, he picked the warhead back up and began to drag his feet to the excavation chamber, to where the bomb lay waiting.

The haze crept slowly inward, and soon he was beginning to see…images. Flashes of what his life was, and who he spent it with.

He saw his stern, proud father and his wise, caring mother, watching with pride as he became a soldier in the Royal Army.

He saw the Lord Commander, gleaming from head to toe in the armor of the Honor Guard, as the elder guardsmen inducted a younger Zeb into their hallowed ranks, giving him the sacred bo-rifle.

He saw the King, tall and just, along with the queen, the prince, and the princess, watching with grim severity as the Empire came to their world.

He saw Lasan burning.

He saw Kanan laughing with Hera.

He saw himself and Ezra playing dejarik, with the latter smirking as he made another checkmate.

He saw Sabine painting something new on the bulkhead of her cabin on the _Ghost_ , cheerfully singing something as she brushed out yet another masterpiece.

He saw Robb sitting across the table from him, regaling him with a tale of his military exploits as they both got horribly drunk on Tarisian ale.

He saw Chopper warbling something, probably psychotically cackling as he pranked either him or Ezra.

He saw Theon smile as he listened to the waves near Dragonstone, obviously being taken back to a simpler time for him.

Before he knew it, he was there. He looked the bomb once over with tired, near glazed eyes. There appeared to be a kind of green liquid pulsating within. Obviously, it was the virus, not yet made airborne, but definitely weaponized. He set down the warhead near the bomb and began to work. He had to struggle to concentrate, for the haze had begun to cover his entire field of vision, and his breathing became labored. Death was close, now, but he had to make sure this thing would go off, with or without him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he pressed a series of switches on the panel, and a timer popped up on the warheads interface. He set the countdown timer to two minutes- enough time for him to collapse and rest before the end, but not enough time for the Imperials to disarm the bomb.

And collapse he did.

He plopped on his rear next to the cavern wall and leaned back against the cavern wall, his breath becoming more and more haphazard. His vision was fading, and he had become far too weak to even move his head- he had lost that much blood. Already, he could feel his major organs shutting down, and it would not be long before his heart stopped pumping, his lungs stopped moving, and his brain ceased all activity. All in all…he had always feared death, but now as he neared the grave, he found that it really wasn't so bad. It was kind of peaceful, in a way. The only thing he regretted, he supposed, was not being at the side of his brothers and sisters-in-arms when they won this war.

Would they ever win this war?

He felt a breeze on his fur, far too warm to be the air outside. Suddenly, for a few moments, his vision seemed to clear, and he saw something…something that was not in this cavern, and not in this world…

He saw a slightly older Ezra -perhaps in his mid-twenties- standing tall and with his back turned. He was wearing clothing far more regal than his usual orange combat jacket and tan trousers. No, this outfit was fit for a king, it seemed like.

Ezra's hands were clasped behind his back- one obviously flesh and blood, the other cybernetic and metal- as he watched the city outside get on with its day, a smile forming on the now older man's lips.

Zeb heard a voice call out in the distance….it was a little girl's voice, it seemed like. "Daddy!" she called, and the older Ezra- complete with a mustache and a beard, turned around and embraced a little girl running towards him, picking her up into his arms and swinging her around, both laughing merrily.

Zeb had to wonder…was this the future? Was this Ezra's daughter in some future that had not yet come? She obviously had his dark olive complexion and his raven hair, which flowed long and freely from her head to her back, but her facial features were sharper, and her build suggested that she favored her mother. As he saw her eyes, he noticed that they were mismatched- the right one was a brilliant blue the color of the sea, much like Ezra's, but the left one was warm amber brown.

The same color as Sabine's eyes, he realized.

As if to confirm his suspicions, the little girl seemed to look right at him and spoke to him in the tongue of the Mandalorians.

" _Ne baatir vencuyot, ba'vodu Zeb. Val jate. Suum ca'nara, Lasan'ad."_

He did not quite understand what exactly this little girl had said, but he seemed to understand the gist of it, he supposed. He smiled. Everything would be alright. He knew it, know. His friends were safe.

His family was safe.

He closed his eyes for the last time and felt his final breath leave his body. And after that…

He did not feel the heat of the bomb as it went off, incinerating him and the weapon, and causing the Fist of the First Men to cave in on itself, leaving behind nothing but a radioactive crater.

He did not feel thousands of tons of rubble crush the scattered remains of his ashes, as the cold winds blew over his makeshift tomb.

All he could feel was peace….

For he was finally home.

* * *

 **A/N: And now his watch has ended.**

 **It's hard for me to kill off characters. I am not GRRM, after all- I don't go killing off characters for seemingly any rhyme or reason. But in this case, I felt it had to be done. I couldn't let the heroes go unscathed, and the White Walkers need to be taken seriously as a threat.**

 **Seems our heroes are in a dark place, after this. The crew is separated, Ezra is near death, Zeb has perished, Theon's ship and crew are lost, and now the Starbird is fleeing blindly into hyperspace. Where to? You shall find out…in the chapter after this next one. I haven't decided on what to do for the next chapter, yet, but I should by the beginning of next week. I'm thinking of either another Sloane POV or a prologue to my next arc.**

 **The last bit was partially inspired by two things- Ragnar Lothbrok's death and Arwen's vision in the forest.**

 **Until next time.**


	27. Sloane III

More and more, Rae felt her mouth contorting into a frown. It was as if the universe was taking a liking to making her miserable.

Case in point: the latest report she was receiving from the Imperial-class Star Destroyer _Admirable_ , which was causing her very sour day to go even sourer.

" _Unfortunately, ma'am, the research base was destroyed by what appeared to be device consistent with a proton warhead,"_ the captain of the _Admirable_ , Rhys Cerinthus, was saying. " _It seemed whatever Military Research was working on was also destroyed by whatever rebel cell caused this atrocity. Fortuitously, we managed to destroy the vessel belonging to that damned pirate and raider, the Iron Fist."_

"The _Remembrance_ is gone?" Rae asked, perking up at this tidbit. For far too long, now, the mysterious 'Iron-Fist' had been raiding their convoys and leaving a trail of broken ships in his wake, costing the Empire no small amount of coin and supplies- supplies that could have been used for their men right now.

She'd have to pull out a glass, later. Good riddance to particularly bad rubbish, she'd say. But celebrations could wait. And besides, there was still that matter of that bloody butcher, the Grey Wolf, to contend with.

" _Indeed, ma'am. It stands to reason the Iron Fist was responsible for the destruction of our base. I wonder how he managed to acquire that information? Only a select few even knew about this place…the one you call 'Valaryos', ma'am,"_ Cerinthus informed her.

"That's a concern for the ISB, captain, not us," she waved off, but inwardly she could feel a pit forming in her stomach. While it was true that whoever oversaw the project's security would be the one to answer for their failure to Lord Vader or Grand Moff Tarkin, she could not help but worry that the higher-ups would also find a way to blame her for the loss of such an important installation.

Her throat tightened somewhat. It was as if she could already feel the invisible talons of Vader's grip tightening around her throat.

" _I certainly hope so, ma'am,_ " the captain responded. " _That concludes my report._ " He said as he saluted her.

"Very well, captain." She returned the salute, and only a few seconds later the transmission was terminated from the other end. She leaned back in her chair and sighed, rubbing her temples for what seemed to be the millionth time this month. It had been over a month and a half, already, and she was still no closer to finding and destroying _either_ major threat posed to the Empire. It was like they were playing a game of cat and mouse, each one avoiding the other, monitoring and waiting.

And here she thought that it would be a different war than the one with the damned rebellion.

Her desk comm went off. " _Permission to enter, ma'am?_ " a familiar, gruff voice asked.

She felt her face relaxing. "Permission granted, captain."

The door opened, and Gordon stepped through, carrying in his hands a datapad. As the door slid shut behind him, he regarded Rae with a sympathetic expression. "You haven't been sleeping much, have you, ma'am?" he observed.

The younger of the two suppressed a yawn. "What gave it away, Uthbar?" she rhetorically asked him, rubbing her eyes to get the cobwebs out.

"Just a hunch," he answered with a hint of dry humor, which caused her to smile. She beckoned him to sit down in front of her desk. He obliged her, and as soon as he did, he handed her the datapad.

She quirked an eyebrow in mild surprise and confusion, as she picked up the datapad. "And this is…?"

"The digital copy of the book you were reading on Csilla," Gordon informed her. "The one about that strange planet, Valaryos. Seems like Aristocra Formbi was feeling generous and ordered his people to prepare and send a copy to you."

Her eyes glazed over the datapad, the screen begging for her to touch it and reveal its hidden secrets. She looked at Gordon. "Did the Aristocra mention any reason?"

Gordon shook his head. "None as I can tell. Maybe it's because you were a good guest to them and didn't act like a typical Core Worlder."

"Ah. So, they appreciate me not waltzing in there like I owned the place," she joked. "Perhaps there is something to being humble, after all," she deadpanned as she looked at the datapad again before a thought hit her. "Captain Uthbar, may I ask you something?"

"What is it, ma'am?" he asked as he sat up a little straighter, giving his commanding officer his full undivided attention.

She paused for a moment. How should she word this? She often heard those preaching in the Church of the Force that the mystical, otherworldly…thing…had a plan and purpose for everyone and everything. She could not see it, however. She had agency, after all, and so did the quadrillions of beings who inhabited the galaxy. What was the point of free will if you had something over your head that had already planned everything out for you?

She sighed. Might as well get this over with. "Do you think that it may be possible that we're being…pulled or pushed towards something?"

Gordon's mustache twitched, as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow, ma'am."

She folded her palms before her. "I'm asking if you believe in such a thing as fate or destiny."

Gordon appeared to think for a moment, before giving a reply. "Well, ma'am, I believe in concepts such as honor, duty, justice, and truth. I believe that there is some higher being that created everything in this universe and let it be. I even believe in love…shocking as that may seem. But…I do not believe that there is some nebulous force controlling everything we do and setting our paths in stone," he gave her his honest answer. He paused for a moment then asked, "Why are you asking?"

"I… don't know. I can't explain it, Gordon, but it's like I was meant to find that book. Ever since that day in that castle on Valaryos, things have been getting weirder and weirder for me. First, it was that strange statue in the tomb. Then, it's this book, which gave me a name for that statue. Robb Stark," she told him, trying to let it sink in, intentionally leaving out the parts about seeing a three-eyed raven or hearing voices. She certainly did not need her crew to think that she was possibly schizophrenic, after all.

Almost as if on cue, she heard the voice again in her head, no less commanding and urgent than it had been the last two times.

 **You must find the Promised Prince, Rae Sloane. You must find Azor Ahai.**

"Maybe it's all just a coincidence," Gordon offered, though, by the sound of his voice, Rae knew that her old friend was having trouble believing that, himself. "Although, the fact that this book apparently answered most of our questions about that planet is a bit…odd, though we don't really know what caused the people on it to disappear."

"Really wish we still had our research base, there," she grumbled. "Anything new would come in handy right about now. Especially regarding…them…" she whispered that last part as if merely mentioning them would bring that monstrosity, the Night King, and his hordes of undead down upon them in an instant.

So far, the only ones who truly knew about this threat were Lord Vader, the Emperor, the Grand Inquisitor, HIGHCOM, Gordon, and herself, and out of all of those, she wasn't too sure that Lord Vader, Governor Tarkin, or the Emperor took it seriously enough, instead being preoccupied with the Rebellion and Krennic's little project. Really, the only ones she thought were taking this threat with the appropriate sense of direness were the Grand Admiral, Gordon, Malleus, and herself. She resisted the urge to grit her teeth. This war she was fighting was far, far more important than the one with the Rebellion, and all her higher-ups saw fit to give her was one systems fleet.

One. Fleet.

And she was going up against the entire might of every barbarian tribe in the Unknown Regions. She would be outnumbered by at least a hundred to one, if not more. She did not know the lay of this region of space; they did. And what was worse, these Vong and other groups were not the disorganized, feuding tribal fiefdoms they were in the millennia since the devastating Vong War.

No, these tribes…these 'Free Folk', as the latest intelligence reports were suggesting that they were calling themselves, now…they were different. They had formed one army, united behind one leader, with one purpose.

She then suddenly had a horrid realization; the galaxy was not united. Not truly. Everyone in the galaxy proper wanted something different- the Rebels wanted to overthrow the government, Tarkin wanted to cow everyone into prostrating before the Emperor, and the Hutts just wanted to extort everyone like the slimy slugs they were. There was no real unity, no real sense of purpose, and everyone was at each other's throats.

She remembered some of the more…ambitious Moffs and officers she had met in her time in service. Men and women like Admiral Motti and Moff Pryce- people with an unquenchable thirst for power. If Palpatine, gods forbid, were to ever die without leaving an heir to the throne…

She steeled herself. No. Vader's iron wrath would keep them in line, she was sure of it. The stability of the Empire must be maintained, after all. Even the most craven and power-hungry of that lot would think twice before upsetting the apple cart that was Imperial law and order.

Would they?

"If wishes were fishes, ma'am, we'd all have a fry," Gordon quipped. "Regardless, we'll make do, especially with you leading us. We always have, after all."

She shook her head. "Not if the men are running on empty stomachs, or if our ships are out of fuel," she argued, punching in a few keys on her desk and bringing a miniature hologram to life, showing Gordon the status of the fleet. "We've been out here for nearly two months, now, captain, and as you can see, we are amber in all statuses across the fleet. In another two months, we're going to have to hightail it back to Ord Mantell for food, water, and fuel, and by the rate, we're successfully finding these 'Free Folk'…" she stopped ranting for the moment. "We need to find a suitable planet to act as a forward operating base. Somewhere close to known space, yet something far enough ahead that we can respond immediately to any report. We can even set up COPs on multiple other worlds away from our forward base."

"Aye, we can have our scouts locate a suitable location, with plenty of natural resources and no native population. Should be easy enough, but, then again, ma'am, we both know the saying about the best-laid plans of men..." Gordon wryly commented. "I'll pass down the word effective immediately, ma'am. As soon as one of our scouts finds something, I'll relay it to you."

She smiled. "Thank you, Captain. Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Retire at an early age?" he joked. "Ah, I better head back to the bridge. Doubtless that the XO is getting tired of babysitting the rest of the bridge crew." He stood up in the position of attention and saluted her.

"Carry on, captain," she dismissed him as she returned the salute, and upon the cessation he did an about face and walked out the door, leaving Rae alone to her thoughts once more.

She picked up the datapad on her desk, giving it a good look over. It was a simple thing, unassuming, not much different than your standard datapad manufactured by one of the many tech conglomerates in the Core Worlds, but Rae knew differently.

This datapad held the long-lost secrets of a culture lost to the sands of time, secrets that could now well prove useful in the great war still to come.

She reached out to touch the pad, hesitating for a moment. Should she open it? Would whatever was contained in there truly help her defeat this great enemy?

She made her decision and activated the datapad. Almost immediately, the screen came to life, and a digitalized cover of _The Histories of the Peoples of Valaryos_ greeted her, completed with a table of contents and a seven-pointed star.

She racked her brain going through the contents. What could possibly help her? She decided to settle on the one section that seemed to have the most promising lead.

 _ **The Wars for the Dawn: A History of the White Walkers and the Long Night**_ **.**

She clicked on the link, and immediately the text appeared, complete with all the illustrations that were present in the original book…including ones of those hideous abominations. She began to read in earnest.

 _Approximately eight-and-a-half thousand years ago, the infernal demons known as the White Walkers first appeared in Westeros. For the longest time, we did not know where this foul enemy had come, only that they despised all manner of light and life, and so sought to eradicate both. It was only much later after the Second War for the Dawn did we learn that these beings were weapons- weapons created by the Children of the Forest in use for the defense of their homes and woods, only to go awry and slaughter indiscriminately. Ultimately, it matters not where they come from, nor does it matter what their leader, the Night King, was named, for, in the end, they were defeated._

 _The First War for the Dawn lasted nearly a generation and would have been the end of humanity were it not for a legendary figure known to the Westerosi as the Last Hero, and to those in Essos as Azor Ahai. It was this figure who aided men such as Brandon the Builder and Lann the Clever in fighting off the initial invasion of the White Walker menace, managing to turn the tide and pushing them back to the Lands of Always Winter from whence they came. How this mysterious person did this is unclear, but legends tell us that he wielded a fiery sword called Lightbringer. Some had speculated this blade to be Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne of Starfall, but know we know the truth to be quite different._

 _Regardless of how he defeated them, after the White Walkers were pushed back for the first time, Brandon Stark had the foresight to know that they would eventually return to complete their task, and so enlisted both men and giants to construct one of the wonders of the known world; the Wall, which stood for eight thousand years guarded by the order Brandon himself founded to protect the realm, the Night's Watch._

 _Before I start the Second Dawn War, dear reader, I would be remiss not to include the strategies, tactics, and weapons used to defeat the unholy menace. Firstly, the White Walkers had no love of sunlight and preferred to move under the shade of clouds or under the cover of night, with a blizzard being preferable for them. Secondly, the White Walkers and their minions could be defeated with a substance known as dragonglass, also known as obsidian, and Valyrian steel, or dragonsteel, which is an alloy made of iron, carbon, and obsidian, forged via the crucible method and with magic spells…_

Rae's eyes widened at the information. There was a way to kill these creatures! Obsidian. She didn't understand the how's and why's, but there it was. She racked her brain. Well, there would be plenty of obsidian on volcanic worlds such as Sullust and Mustafar, more than enough to sufficiently equip the Imperial Army and Navy twice over and then some. Then, there was that tidbit about the White Walkers hating sunlight. It would be easy enough to create something like an ultraviolet weapon for the eggheads at Military Research, provided they tore themselves away from Project Stardust for a long enough moment, that is.

She then paused for a moment. Valyrian steel. She didn't know why, but something in her gut told her to check it out. She immediately closed the section on the White Walkers, and scrolled over to a section called "Essos". Clicking on the tab, she found herself scrolling through _Asshai, Braavos,_ and a hundred other places and races she didn't have time to concern herself over, before coming to the subsection she needed.

 _Valyria_.

She clicked on the tab and clicked on the heading which read " _Valyrian Steel and it's Construction"_ , and began to read, eagerly absorbing the information within.

 _For centuries, the art of forging the sharp, light, and strong metal alloy known as Valyrian steel was lost to the smiths and artisans of Westeros, as it was thought destroyed during the Doom of Valyria. Indeed, it was only through the efforts of Samwell Tarly and Gendry Baratheon that we rediscovered the secret to forging these dark steel blades, which look smoky in the right light and can cut through most of anything. Truly, these blades can even withstand the blow of a White Walker's ice-glaive, which has been known to shatter regular steel weapons with frightening ease._

Rae paused at that. Dark steel blades that can stand up to most of anything? Where had she seen that before? She vaguely recalled that the Mandalorians had something similar- an alloy called _beskar_ that could resist the blows of lightsabers, and protect against even direct fire from all but the heaviest of weaponry. Could these two alloys be similar or even the same? It was possible, she mused, though one of the Supercommandos that had worked with her in the past had admitted to her that no one in Mandalorian space knew how to fresh forge beskar- they only knew how to reforge it for each generation of warriors to wear.

She yawned again and looked at her chronometer. Damn, was it 2300 already? Gordon was right; she really did need to get some sleep. She rose up from her desk, stretched, and made way to her sleeping quarters in the back.

* * *

 _Rae found herself walking in some sort of throne room._

 _While it wasn't as spacious as the throne room in the palace on Coruscant, it was certainly no less grand or awe-inspiring. Tall, imposing pillars of granite and alabaster held up the structure, the bottoms graced with enclosing braziers that held fire that seemed to burn eternally. On the stone walls, there were large, stained glass windows, each one dedicated to some sort of god, as far as she could tell. All that, though, paled in comparison to what she saw before her._

 _It sat on a dais made of black onyx, before the largest window in this throne room, which contained a steel inlay of the Imperial cog. The throne was ugly, ungainly, dark and sharp in appearance, and appeared to be made of dozens, if not hundreds, of melted and bent swords._

 _Upon the throne sat an old king, his eyes feral and golden. On his right stood a knight, encased in intimidating black armor, a red dragon emblazed on his breastplate. The breathing emanating from the knight's great-helm sounded eerie, and yet…familiar. On the left of the throne stood another man, shrouded in darkness and carrying a large war hammer._

 _Suddenly, without warning, the man with the war hammer picked his weapon up and swung it at the knight, striking him right in the middle of the breastplate and sending him flying backward into the shadows. The betrayer then turned and struck his king in the head, before the alarmed old man could reach for his sword or flee. The force of the impact was sickening, as the hammer nearly tore the king's head off. The dead king toppled off the throne in an undignified heap, with the shadowy figure flicking off some grey matter off of one of the swords before sitting on the monstrous chair._

 _Rae heard a groan- a sickening crack as if something was bending and giving way. She looked up in trepidation and found the steel Imperial cog was cracking, splintering in several places. Without warning, it gave way, tearing into five pieces, and crashing all around her._

 _And one was about to fall right on top of her_

 _She ducked and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the thing that would crush her. Strangely, though, it never came. When she opened her eyes and stood up, she noticed something was different, for the three figures were gone, and the scene, while still in the throne room, was vastly changed._

 _The ceiling of the throne room was gone, torn open and blasted by something monstrous. The marble floors, once pristine, were now dirty and covered in white snow, while a chill from the grey skies swept into the room. To Rae, it seemed as if this palace had suffered some sort of assault or orbital bombardment, and she was witnessing the aftermath. Truly, the only thing that remained was that ominous, ungainly throne._

 _She walked closer to it. There seemed to be something sitting on that throne, she thought. As she walked closer, she could make out what it was._

 _It was some sort of cat, that much she could tell, curled up into a ball and sleeping soundly. It looked to be a smaller, fluffier, and decidedly less dangerous version of a nexu, judging by the wide mouth and tan fur coat. What was this kind of feline, she wondered? Captain Brunson had told her once of Loth-cats, back when she did a stint on Lothal. Could this be one of those creatures?_

 _Before she could reach out and touch it, the cat woke up and looked at her with curious, blue eyes._

That…was when she woke up.

* * *

 **A/N: Yet another chapter is done.**

 **Alright, I know this chapter might seem a bit like filler, but there are several key developments here that I'd say that prevents it from being such.**

 **Now, Rae thinks she's found a way to defeat the White Walkers. Is she right to assume this? Well, we will see. Rarely are things so simple and easy in life, especially when it comes to apocalyptic threats.**

 **Between the Walkers and this coalition calling themselves the Free Folk, Rae will have her hands full. She will be vastly outnumbered, outgunned, and in enemy territory, with almost no hope of reinforcements or resupply.  
**

 **I want to hear your theories on what this dream means in the comments.**

 **Also, a shoutout to Meldy-Arts for drawing that wonderful cover for me! Thank you, again, Mel!**

 **Until next time, and remember, the night is dark and full of terrors.**


	28. Robb VI

They were flying blind.

Robb had lost count of how many hyperspace-jumps the _Starbird_ had performed- all randomized, of course- in an effort to throw off any potential pursuers. Was this the third, or the fourth, he wondered absentmindedly as he stared blankly out the cockpit windows, into the blue-and-white swirl of hyperspace.

Where were they going, even? Where was their bearing?

He dimly heard the door to the loading bay slide open, and he turned in his seat to find Theon, looking tired and gaunt…even more so than usual.

Robb was silent for the moment. Really, what was there to ask him? They both knew Ezra remained in critical condition, and there remained an alarmingly high chance that he might not make it the next six hours. He also figured that Theon wouldn't have had any idea on where those wights and that White Walker came from. From what he had told him, Theon was there when Jon destroyed the Night King once and for all, breaking whatever dark hold he had on the continent and ending the scourge of the Walkers once and for all.

Well…maybe not 'once and for all', which brought him back to his previous line of thought- how'd the White Walkers return, and was this just some freak incident? He needed answers, that much was clear, and right now, he didn't have any way to communicate with the one person who could help him the most, right now.

He sighed. "Any updates?"

Theon shook his head, the grey hair waving back and forth like some sort of old mop. "Ezra's still in pretty bad shape, and Sabine and the wolves absolutely refuse to leave his side. Rau's watching over them, right now…" he trailed off a bit. "Did…did Zeb say anything to you before…"

Robb nodded wearily. "He asked me that if I saw Kallus that I should tell him that he's been forgiven by Zeb," he spoke quietly as looked down at his palm. "Theon, what am I going to tell Hera?"

His old friend sighed. "I don't know, to be honest, Robb."

Robb clenched his fist. "Seven fucking hells, this was my fucking operation," he cursed. "I promised them I would lead them safely back home, and now I have one man dead and another clinging to life," he ranted as he turned back to Theon. "What kind of leader can't protect his own, Theon? What kind of leader leads those who trust him into slaughter like that?"

"But you didn't lead them into slaughter, Robb," Theon corrected. "How could we have known it was the White Walkers who were mining at that base? By the Drowned God, Robb, I saw their destruction with my own eyes!" he stopped ranting for a moment. "Besides…we accomplished our mission, there. We found the Katana Fleet, we discovered what happened to our people, and we managed to keep a potent weapon out of the hands of our enemies."

"A bitter victory," Robb observed. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this, Theon. I've thought I've learned my lesson after the Red Wedding. Apparently not," he blithely remarked. Why was it every time he leads men into war, all he did was lead them into disaster? Was he fated to be a harbinger of death and destruction- no more than a bad omen for those close to him?

"You're a much better leader than I am, that's for sure," Theon retorted, a tired expression on his face. "I just lost my entire crew, and I was their captain for years, now." He looked at the navicomputer and sighed. "Still about half an hour out from our destination, I see."

"And what is our destination, Theon?" Robb questioned, spinning around in his seat to fully face him.

"For now, somewhere near Chalacta," he confirmed. "After that, who the fuck knows? It will take far too long to get to Yavin Four, given Ezra's condition, and I'd rather not head anywhere near Mandalorian Space, even if Sabine has family there. They might shoot us down on site just for associating with her, and that's not counting the fact that it's controlled by the Empire and their puppets."

Robb thought for a moment. He had to admit, those were pretty good points. Then, slowly, a realization came to him. "Chalacta is near Hutt Space, correct?"

"Yeah…" Theon began, his voice unsure. "Why do you ask?"

"Arcadia," Robb propositioned. "It's only a few hours away from Chalacta, at most. Plus, we won't have to worry about the Empire possibly discovering us."

Theon quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure about it? Last I heard, you and Duke Lund didn't exactly part on good terms."

Robb rolled his eyes. "It was a minor spat and a sprained ankle. He's not so petty as to not forgive something like that. Plus, that's got to be offset by all the shit I did for him," he sighed. "Look, regardless of Lund's animosity towards me or the lack thereof, it's the least dangerous option we have right now, which makes it the best one for saving Ezra's life. As an aside, it will give us some breathing room and time to strategize. Besides, he must still like you…" he added.

Theon grimaced, conveying to Robb that his old friend conceded the point, all without saying a word, before getting in the pilot's seat to drop them out of hyperspace and set their new coordinates. He turned back to Robb, rubbing his face before speaking.

"Hey, you need to get some sleep, Robb. You've been up for the past day and a half, now. I'll make sure we get to Arcadia. I'll advise Sabine and Rau to do the same."

Robb wanted to protest, but as he opened his mouth, he found that he had to stifle a yawn. Damn it, he hated it when Theon was right. Truthfully, he had been running on fumes for a long while, now, and his worries about Ezra's condition weren't helping matters, either. So, it was with great reluctance he finally nodded, and leaned back in his seat, letting the welcome embrace of sleep come over him.

* * *

 _Robb found himself in an alien, unfamiliar place. A room, to be more precise._

 _One side of the room was brightly lit, almost blindingly so, and gave a warm and cozy feeling. The other side was nearly pitch black, and all he felt from that side was cold, and a sense of existential dread. In the middle, where the light and dark met, was a mixing of the two, forming a miasmic, grey shadow, and it was in this grey maybe that he saw a very familiar being standing there, watching him with a patient, stoic face._

 _His brother._

 _Robb looked around before speaking to him. "I take it since you're here that this isn't really a dream, is it?" he asked Bran, who shook his head knowingly._

" _No," was his little brother-turned-god's answer._

" _So…" Robb questioned further. "What is it?"_

 _He had not noticed before, but upon looking at Bran again, he noticed that he was carrying a staff, or mayhaps it was a walking stick._

" _This place," Bran began, "is a manifestation of the cosmic and living entity that mortals know as the Force. The Light, the Dark, and the Middle. What you see is the Force if it was in its optimum state. Balanced between the forces of order and harmony, and chaos and entropy. This…" he tapped his staff, and immediately the darkness in the room bolted out almost all the light save for a tiny sliver, and now to Robb, Bran appeared severe and cold, his visage one of indifferent malevolence. "…is the state of the Force currently. Palpatine's schemes and Vader's betrayal have seen to it that the galaxy has been thrown into a state of chaos, fear, and slaughter. It is a state of unbalance that_ will _lead the galaxy to disaster, not unless the prince that was promised restores it."_

 _Robb squinted at his brother. "Bran…what are you getting at?" Then, realization struck him. "You knew? You knew they had come back?"_

 _Bran nodded, and as the light was restored to its respective half, Robb felt a cold fury build up inside him. "Why?" he asked, as his teeth became clenched._

" _Speak plainly, Robb." Bran drolled, and not for the first time Robb noted that Bran was…distant…_

" _Why did you not tell me, for one?" he finally erupted, sweeping his hands around for effect, as his voice echoed around the room as if it were a cave. "Why did you not help us on Valaryos?"_

" _Because it's not my place," the three-eyed raven answered simply._

 _Robb's nostrils flared. "Not your place? Bullshit. There are people dying by the hand of the Empire every single day! The White Walkers are returning, and yet you don't lift a finger to stop it!"_

 _Bran regarded him coolly. "The mortal races can handle their own problems, Robb. Yes, I will not lift a finger to help them directly. We gods cannot watch over you like you are children in need of their parents."_

 _Robb's nostrils flared. "_ We _gods? Have you forgotten what you once were, Brandon Stark? Have you forgotten what you once were?" he snorted. "You're so powerful and mighty, yet while the galaxy suffers, you retreat into this nexus and hide like a craven wretch, brother. Maybe you're right. Maybe we don't need_ gods _like you after all._

 _Suddenly, the ground shook and wobbled beneath Robb's feet. The light and the dark gave way, and the room was filled with hot, burning blue fire, and as Robb now looked upon Bran, he saw his visage had become one of a truly great and powerful deity, awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure._

" _ **I will NOT be called a coward by the likes of you, Robb!**_ _" Bran yelled, his voice going far deeper than any normal man's, echoing around the room, as if he were not speaking with one voice, but ten thousand. "_ _ **You have no utter idea of what it's like to see humanity and the other races repeat their same mistakes time and time again! You haven't an inkling of what would happen if I released my power upon this galaxy! I have seen civilizations rise and fall, empires come and go! All eternity to me is now but a pinprick of existence. I am past, present, and future. I am the light and the dark, the alpha and the omega! I am the BENDU!**_ _"_

 _The blue fire subsided, and soon the room returned to its natural state, as Bran appeared to calm down, and his visage returned to that of a young man, one that was now worn by time and responsibility._

" _I cannot help you…not directly..." Bran spoke again, though this time his voice was much quieter and tired as if he truly had a great burden on his shoulders. "If I were to release my full power upon whom I wished, no matter how pure my intentions, it would invite terrible consequences for the galaxy. I can only guide you in the right direction, Robb. That's all any of us immortals can do," he sighed. "I haven't been Bran Stark for a long, long time, brother. Neither have I been Brynden Rivers, either, for an age longer. Only the raven remains, only the raven," he muttered. "But…you were not brought here to hear me bore you with regrets. Humor me, brother. I sense your worry. It hangs about you like an albatross."_

 _It was Robb's turn to sigh. "I have succeeded against my enemies, but I lost a good friend and brother in the process. We retrieved the Katana Fleet, but Zeb is gone, and Ezra might follow him to the grave if we don't help him in time. And…and I'm worried about Hera." He finally admitted._

 _Bran quirked an eyebrow. "Curious. Why would you worry about her?"_

" _Because her adopted son is badly injured, for one," Robb counted off. "One of her crew members is dead, and her planned operation for Lothal was shitcanned. Not to mention that Chopper Base is gone, and on top of that, she's pregnant," he confessed. "Kanan and she are going to have a child."_

" _Ah," Bran nodded sagely. "So you are afraid that the stress combined will take its toll, and cause her to miscarry the child?"_

 _Robb nodded, wordlessly, and stared at the floor. He was immediately greeted by a sharp rap upside the head from Bran with his staff._

" _Do you think so poorly of your friends?" Bran admonished him. "She is far stronger than you give her credit for. If she was not, she would not have risen to be such a leader of men, now, would she?"_

 _Robb raised his head, still rubbing the spot that Bran had hit. He had to admit…his brother was right._

 _As always._

 _He had not given credit to Hera where it was due. She had grown up nearly all her life fighting the Empire, experiencing all the hardship and loss that went with it. If she could bounce back from all that, then perhaps there was hope for her and her child yet._

" _Thank you, Bran," he thanked his younger brother-turned-living god. "And I'm sorry that I snapped at you."_

" _Likewise, Robb," Bran returned. "Now, off with you. You have a journey to complete, and I have a message to deliver. Worry not, brother, for your role in the wars to come will be made clear, in due time. Fare thee well, brother!"_

 _And with that, Bran disappeared, and Robb felt himself being pulled back from this section of reality into his own…_

* * *

"Robb!"

He awoke with a start and looked around. Making sure he was back in the _Starbird_ after getting the cobwebs out of his vision, he turned to Theon, who pointed out the cockpit's transperisteel windows.

"We're here."

He looked out the viewport to see that the swirling blues and whites of hyperspace had been replaced by the black of real space, punctured as it was by the endless white sea of stares, and crossed by the distant cerulean of the galactic band. In the distance, he spotted the system's primary star; a white dwarf that was still burning strong despite being a few ten million years away from the end of its lifecycle. Closer to them, right within the reach of the star's habitable zone was a planet, covered in green and tan continents and cobalt oceans, with a few cities being visible even from this distance, the largest of which taking up an entire small peninsula on the northern hemisphere.

This…was Arcadia, once known as the old Hutt homeworld of Varl before it's conquest by Arcus Beniko and his followers, the remnants of the old Sith Empire.

"Hard to believe it's been years since either of us have been here." Theon was wistfully reminiscing, as he steered the ship on an approach vector towards the planet's capital city, Lanopolis. "Wonder what Duke Lund will say about me losing that ship he lent me?"

"Well, knowing that old boar, he'd probably have considered your hands payment enough," Robb snarked as they flew closer and closer to the planet. By now, they could make out the various Golan III Orbital Defense Platforms and _Super_ -class Magnetic Accelerator Cannons that compromised the first line of Arcadia's defense system, as well as the varied capital ships that compromised the Arcadian Home Defense Fleet.

There was a reason this planet was called _The Shield of Nal Hutta_ , after all. Several reasons, actually...

"Hmmm…" Theon observed as they came in closer. "Security seems a bit tighter around here than what it normally is. I don't ever recall seeing this many ships from the Home Fleet deployed, and in a defensive posture, at that."

"Maybe it's something to do with the assassination of that one general. What was his name? Eurydamas?" Robb opined, but before they could continue their conversation any further, they were hailed on the ships all-channel frequency.

" _Unidentified starcraft, this is the Aggressor-class Destroyer_ RAS Basilio. _State your name or callsign and present business, or turn around. This is your first and only warning. We have been authorized to use deadly force if you fail to comply."_

Robb and Theon shared a look. He didn't remember the Arcadian Royal Military being this on edge, before. It was almost as if there were preparations for a war going on, but against whom, and for what reason?

Deciding that he _didn't_ want to die today, given Ezra's grave condition and the fact that the tone in the communication officer's voice brokered absolutely no dissent, Robb keyed into the comm, hoping beyond hope this would work.

"RAS _Basilio_ , this is Wolf-One-Actual. Be advised, we have one WIA onboard, condition Alpha. Requesting permission to land at Heraclius Memorial, over."

The communications officer aboard the _Basilio_ immediately responded, and as the _Starbird_ drew even closer to Arcadia, Robb could make out the two massive accelerator cannons that made up the destroyer's primary armament.

 _Fighters and long-range firepower_ , Robb thought. _That is the core of Arcadian naval doctrine_.

" _Wolf-One-Actual, this is RAS_ Basilio _. Our fighters will escort you in. Follow your present course, over."_

"Copy, _Basilio,_ " Robb responded, "Wolf-One-Actual, out."

After closing the intercom, the two Westerosi breathed a sigh of relief that neither of them knew they had been holding in. It seemed at least his old codename still worked, but a part of Robb wondered if something else was afoot, here.

Immediately to their right and to their left, two Z-95Cs took up escort positions, steering them towards the capital city of Lanopolis. As they broke through the planet's atmosphere, and the capital came into view, Robb was immediately reminded how vast and how striking the city was.

In the distance, he could already spot the famous, six-hundred-kilometer long and hundred meter high wall that stretched from coast to coast on the Thessalonian Penisula, and beyond that, the massive city of Lanopolis, resplendent with high rises in the industrial and financial sectors, to the golden domes and ancient-inspired architecture of the market and residential districts. Getting even closer to the hospital, he could make out the Royal Palace at the far end, as well as the Great Circuit and the Grand Basilica of the Triarchy. What he couldn't see, of course, was the Ministry of Intelligence, due to being, well, obscure…

"Alright, we're here," Theon spoke quietly, and Robb saw the emergency landing pad at the hospital…with an EMS team already on standby. He keyed the intercom.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we're here," he spoke into the ship's internal speakers. "Sabine, Fenn, get Ezra on that gurney and prepare for handoff."

A long silence passed, before a barely audible "roger" was given over the comm.

The _Starbird_ landed, as gracefully as ever, and upon immediately opening the landing ramp, everyone rushed out, Sabine and Rau bringing out a still-comatose Ezra strapped onto the gurney, looking unnaturally pale. The medical team ran up to them, took one look at the comatose, amputated man on the gurney, and looked at them with a sense of alertness.

"We'll take it from here, sir," the lead paramedic told Robb, but as the team was reaching for the gurney, Sabine stepped in front of them.

 _By the Old Gods and the new, not fucking now!_

"I'm going with him," she said flatly and fixed them with a defiant stare in her eyes. To the head paramedic's credit, however, he did not wither, instead cooly and professionally meeting her gaze with his own.

"Ma'am, I understand your concern for this boy, but we need to get him to ICU, asap. I'd appreciate it if you moved out of the way."

Robb prayed for Sabine not to do anything stupid, but to his relief, she just glared at the head paramedic before relenting and stepping aside, albeit reluctantly.

He approached her and laid a hand on her armored shoulder, and he could see that, when she turned to him, that she had been trying not to cry, for tears unbidden were welled up in her eyes.

"You did the right thing, Sabine," he tried his best at comforting. "Heraclius Memorial is probably the best medical center in all of Hutt Space, maybe even the entire Outer Rim." He looked at all of them. "Come, let's get to the orderly room."

* * *

It was a short jaunt and a couple elevator rides down to the waiting room in this wing of the hospital, where they lay in anxious wait, eager to hear if their friend would make it.

As he was sitting in one of the seats, watching his Mandalorian almost-sister stalk back and forth like a hungry wolf- which was ironic, considering that they had also brought the two direwolves into the building who, despite behaving nicely, were causing no small amount of concern with the other people in the room- he felt a tap on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir?" a feminine voice called to him. He turned around to see a young Sith'ari nurse behind him, her black hair tied up in a neat bun whilst her crimson skin shone in the bright white lights of the hospital. "The head of the ICU would like to see you in his office."

Absentmindedly, Robb found his hand straying towards his sidearm, as he was not allowed to bring in either his long arm or his sword. "Any reason?" he asked the nurse.

She just stared at him blankly and spoke to him in a voice that brokered no dissent, "I just do what I'm told, sir. Now please, follow me." Without another word, she turned on her heel and began to walk off, expecting to follow her.

Not wanting to offend their hosts, but still wary of any trickery, he got up out of his seat and followed her, grabbing Theon along the way while telling Rau and Sabine to remain in the orderly room with the wolves.

As they followed her, the strange feeling Robb was getting was coming back, tenfold this time. So far, not one of the nurses has even so much as mentioned a possible statement of charges. Since Ezra was in intensive care, and possibly getting cybernetic limbs, he did not think he could afford that kind of expense.

All in all, this was very strange, and it was making him feel uneasy.

They turned the corner, right into an open doorway, which turned out to be a rather spacious office. As the nurse left them, Robb saw the head doctor of the ICU sitting at his desk, his hands folded and a friendly smile on his face, while in the back a rather large, mysterious figure had it's back turned, cloaked with a raincoat that blended into the night sky outside.

"You…wanted to see us, doctor?" Robb began as he stepped further into the office, checking for any tricks or traps that might be hidden.

"Ah, yes. Indeed, yes," the doctor responded. "I think you'll be pleased to know, Grey Wolf, that all of the patient's medical expenses have been fully covered. You will not see a single credit deducted out of your account," he exclaimed and waved his hands for effect. "You'll also be pleased to know that we are currently measuring him for the best cybernetic prosthetics we can offer and that he's been transferred into a bacta tank. He lost a lot of blood and remains, for now, in a shock-induced coma, but he's stable. With skill and some luck, he should make a full recovery."

"That's…that's wonderful news!" Theon sputtered, all the while looking at the figure in the back. There was something about the shadow that was familiar to Robb…

"You mentioned that his expenses have been paid," Robb interrupted. "By who, exactly, do we owe this patronage?"

"That would be _me,_ " the shadow finally spoke up, and it all clicked for Robb.

He _knew_ that voice. He fucking knew it.

As if to only confirm his thoughts, the shadow turned around and dropped his hood. The being was a male Gamorrean, rather tall for his species, and rather thin, too, although still somewhat husky by human standards. His brilliant red hair was greying, and the two tusks in his mouth were worn and old. One might still mistakenly assume this Gamorrean to be like most of his species; dull and hyper-aggressive. They would have quickly found out this old boar was anything but, if they ever saw the dagger coming, that was.

"Hello, Stark," Duke Thrakas Lund, Arcadian Minister of Intelligence and the true right-hand man to King Lysandus Beniko greeted drooly in that gruff, baritone voice of his. "It's been far too fucking long."

* * *

 **A/N: Yeesh…that took much longer than I was expecting. But then again, I moved into a new apartment, so, eh. Priorities, priorities…**

 **And here is where we introduce my OC faction, the Kingdom of Arcadia, based upon the Eastern Roman/Byzantine Empire of Medieval fame. There were several reasons why I wanted to do this, primary among them that it never made much sense to me that the Hutts were able to keep out both the Republic and the Empire out of their space just by trade and illicit activities alone, and mercenary companies in this universe aren't the most…reliable…**

 **Now, because Arcadia is built upon the ruins of Varl, this has caused some tensions in the past and is an underlying wound in their relationship.**

 **Also, to avoid confusion, I have changed the name of the Sith species to Sith'ari. They aren't extinct in this story like they are in the Legends/Canon universe, and together along with the human population of Arcadia, make up the last remnant of the old Sith Empire.**

 **Now, who is Bran delivering a message to? Time will tell.**

 **Till the next!**


	29. The Raven and the Wolf

**A/N: I usually don't put an author's note at the top of my story, but there is a good reason for this. This is going to be the first, and hopefully only, two-POV chapter to my story. The reason why will become apparently clear given time.**

 **Now, on with the show…**

* * *

The worry ate at her.

It ate at her like buzzards over a roadside kill; picking away at her core until nothing remained but fear and trepidation.

 _Manda_ above, she should be with him, right now! Her best friend, her surrogate brother, her…he was being operated on by total strangers, people who didn't know him like she did.

Care for him like she did.

As she continued to pace back and forth, she failed to notice Theon and Robb leave without a word, trailing a nurse that summoned them to the head doctor's office. All she could think about was Ezra on an operating table.

Would they be able to save him? Would he be a cripple for the rest of his life, or would he be forced to wear cheaply made prosthetics? Could they bring him out of his coma, and if they could, could he remember any of them? Would his personality change? It wouldn't be terribly unsurprising, she worriedly mused. She's heard stories of warriors who became completely different people after experiences involving severe trauma. Maybe Ezra wasn't any different!

She scolded herself. Did she really have that little faith in him? He was the strongest person she knew, by far, and here she was, doubting his survival, physical or mental.

But she couldn't help it, and so she continued to pace back and forth like a frightened nexu looking anxiously for her mate, which wasn't too far off the mark.

It seemed the direwolves shared her concern, for Storm was whining at the door to the ICU, where they took Ezra, anxious to be with his master, while Runi watched her mistress with a grave, worried look in her eyes.

Oh, how she wanted to tell her wolf that it would be alright, but it would be a lie. What if they couldn't save him? Could she ever forgive Robb? Could she ever forgive herself? How could she go back and face her family without the one man who truly believed in her at her side?

Her mind halted for a split second. She no longer thought of him as a boy.

Sure, she had noticed his change from scrawny, small youth into a lean, hardened, and taller man- she did have to stop herself from fantasizing about his abs from time to time, after all, and he had matured during his time with them, in more ways than one. But…even after all that…

She couldn't bring herself to admit it until now.

Not even after the kiss, could she admit that he was a boy no longer. The large part of her, for the longest time, had wanted to see him still as that goofy kid from Lothal with a mischievous streak a mile wide, but more and more, that part was shrinking, and being replaced by one that recognized that he was now a man, who now frowned as often as much as he smiled, who was far more mature, wise, and intelligent than he had ever had been before.

A man who she could see spending the rest of her life with.

"Sabine?" someone called out to her, though she paid the voice no mind. All she was focused on right now was Ezra and his possibilities of recovery.

"Sabine!" the voice called more sharply this time. Interrupted from her frantic musing and her pacing, she quickly turned her head to see Rau staring at her, with a concerned look plastered on his pale face.

"What?" she snapped, a little more harshly than she had intended.

"You've been pacing for the past hour, now," he pointed out.

She huffed. It's not like she had bothered noticing, and why should she? "Yeah? So, what? Ezra's in there, and they're doing _manda_ knows what to him, and he may not even come out of that bloody coma!"

To his credit, Rau didn't retort. He didn't say anything, at first. He just sat there, a quizzical look on his face, before something finally dawned on him, as his face lit up in recognition.

"You really do care about him. Don't you?"

She glared at him. "He's my friend and brother. Of course, I care about him, just like I care about any one of my friends or family."

"I didn't mean as a friend," he stated matter-of-factly.

If it was any other time, she would have struck up an argument with him, fiery and passionate in her rebuke that he was wrong about that. But right now, she didn't want to argue with him, partly because she didn't have the energy, partly because her mind was still reeling from the death of Zeb, and partly because she didn't want to admit that he was right. So, instead, she sighed and huffed.

"I supposed it looks that way, doesn't it?" she lowered her voice and turned her head away from him while crossing her arms.

"My lady," he began, walking up to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. Seems everyone was doing that, and she didn't want it.

Well, not from them, at least.

"You have to be honest with yourself and how you feel," he said. "Right now, Bridger hovers between the world of the living and the dead. But…" he trailed off.

"But?" she repeated, now listening fully to him.

"I don't think Ezra wants to die. Sure, his parents might be waiting on the other side, but he still has a future, here. With his crew, with his Jedi master, with you. You, though…you must make it worth his while, or he will choose to be with his parents, for all eternity," he told her straight, then paused for a moment. "Does Bridger not know how much he truly means to you?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "No," she choked out. "He has no idea, as far as I can tell."

"Then you must tell him," he pressed. "My lady, only you can bring him back from the brink. He might be in a coma, true, but I reckon that on some level, he can still hear you." He let go of her shoulder. "You have to make that choice, though. You must be honest with him and yourself, or you will lose him forever, and you don't need that regret, no more than the ones you already have."

It was then that the surgeon summoned them.

* * *

 _Ezra found himself wandering._

 _He didn't know where he was, or when. All he could see ahead of him was darkness, which clung to him so thick and heavy that he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face._

 _How'd he end up here, again? Oh, yes, that was it. That grenade knocked him unconscious._

 _He wondered how Sabine was doing. How were Robb and Theon and Zeb faring? Did his wolf survive the fight? Did they destroy the weapon, and whatever those creatures where? He had so many questions, and no one to answer them._

 _As if on cue to his thoughts, he spotted a light in the distance. It was soft, dim, but even from this distance, he could tell that it was some sort of fire. Having no other good options to turn to, he trudged himself in the way of the flame._

 _As he got closer, he could finally make out what type of fire it was. It was too large to be a campfire, that was certain, but on the other hand, it was far too small to be a house fire. If he had to guess, it had to be some sort of bonfire; the kind one creates when celebrating something, or when one is observing some sort of religious rite._

 _Or, perhaps it was a funeral pyre, and he had stumbled upon someone's memorial. Either way, it wasn't like he had much of a choice._

 _Getting closer, he could now see this fire was bright…_ _ **very**_ _bright, and there was a beautiful woman in front of the fire, with hair as crimson as wine, clothed in red garments and speaking in a tongue he had never heard before. Her accent was foreign to his ears, yet at the same time, pleasant to hear. He noticed around her neck was a choker of some sort, beset with a red jewel, and the irises of her eyes blazed ruby._

" _Āeksio, cas aōha ōños bē īlva, syt Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys!" she beseeched the flames in that strange language of hers, and it seemed the fire seemed to respond, for at that moment, the darkness seemed to be driven away, and it was then Ezra finally found himself back on the beaches of Dragonstone. He did not fail to notice, however, that a few shadows clung to the flames._

 _The red woman turned to him and greeted, "Valar morghulis, Lēkia hen zokli."_

" _Hello…?" he greeted her with an unsure, and awkward, voice._

 _She chuckled. "Do not worry about being social, young master. Your ancestor wasn't exactly a paragon of social grace, himself, young Ezra Bridger."_

" _Wait, you knew my_ ancestors _?" he asked her. "Who are you?"_

" _Yes, I did know your ancestors in life," she answered him, "and as to who I am, it is no great secret. I am Melisandre of Asshai, sworn to the Lord of Light, R'hllor. It is by his will that you were brought here, Jedi."_

" _R'hllor?" he asked her again. "Sorry, I'm not familiar with all of this."_

" _It is no fault of your own," she brushed off. "You know Rhllor by another name; that of Ashla, or the Light Side of the Force. The Grey Maybe you've met, the one they call the Bendu."_

" _Brandon Stark," he nodded._

" _And the one we oppose you know as the Dark Side, Bogan. In my time, it was known as the Great Other, the master of cold and death. He has many champions, as you know."_

" _Vader, Palpatine, and the Inquisitors," he answered. "The Sith and their minions."_

 _Melisandre chuckled. "The Sith are but pawns who fancy themselves as kings. They seek to control the darkness, understanding not that it is the Great Other who controls them, instead, twisting them into little more than playthings for his true champion. Violent and cunning, yes, but also blind to the truth."_

" _And what is this... truth?" he pressed, holding up his left hand, which he noticed was composed entirely of light. "Who is the darkness' true champion?"_

" _The first Dark Lord." She answered. "He went by many dread names in our days, but the one men know him by and feared most was the Night King. He is the leader of the White Walkers." She fixed him with a look. "The Long Night is coming, Ezra Bridger... and only the prince that was promised can bring the dawn."_

" _The Night King…" he repeated, ignoring the woman's words about this 'prince that was promised' "Theon mentioned something to me. He said that a man named Jon Snow killed him."_

 _Melisandre sighed. "Yes. Jon, the son of ice and fire- the second promised prince- did indeed kill him, but he did not destroy him. Not truly." She turned back to the fire as if gazing at it. "The spirit of evil was contained, sealed away in a dragonglass dagger and buried, never to be heard from again. But the Imperials, in their arrogance and hubris, dug it up, goaded on by the servants of death."_

" _So…" he repeated. "Those things. The 'white walkers'. Those are his servants? What's their goal?"_

 _She looked at him plainly. "To destroy the world of mortals, Ezra. They despise all life and light, and if you and your friends do nothing, they will succeed."_

 _It all started to sink in for him. All his life, he had thought the Empire was the worst evil out there. Maybe it was still the worst of the more mundane evils, he supposed, but this? These things didn't care whether a man was Rebel or Imperial. Judging by all the corpses he fought, he guessed that they were all the same to the Night King; meat for his armies._

" _What must I do?" he asked._

" _Melisandre shook her head. "I cannot show you your path, young Bridger. You must seek it for yourself. I can only point you in the right direction. But, I must ask you this…" she leaned in closer. "What are you prepared to sacrifice, to ensure that your galaxy remains safe and free?"_

 _With that, she turned her back on him and towards the fire, chanting while Ezra's mind was left reeling with questions and riddles, one sticking out in his mind above all the rest._

The Long Night is coming, and only the prince that was promised can bring the dawn.

* * *

He looked so peaceful laying there, she thought.

Over six hours ago, the surgeon had brought them into his office. There, he told them that Ezra's surgery and limb replacement was successful and that his burns and cuts had been successfully treated with bacta, though he would always have a scar across his face, now, as well as his entire left side of his torso being left with a pale burn scar.

Normally, she would have ogled the craftsmanship of Ezra's new, cybernetic left arm and leg. A black, carbon fiber mesh covered and protected the circuitry, gears, and servos that made up the limbs, and the mesh itself was covered by doonium plating, which gave off a brilliant chrome scheme. The limbs, she was informed, would be internally warmed and matched to his body temperature, so when he grasped something, it would not feel like cold metal. Though she wished that the limbs would be covered with sythflesh- perhaps a selfish desire on her part, she admitted- she was at least grateful that Ezra could walk and fight again.

That is... if he ever woke up.

She watched his chest rise and fall, rhythmic in fashion, and found herself admiring his natural olive complexion. She thanked the _manda_ he wasn't as deathly pale as he was earlier. Robb was right; this was a damned good hospital.

"He's a tough lad, that's for certain," an unfamiliar, gruff voice harrumphed behind her. Sabine turned around, very, _very_ annoyed that someone would intrude, and found a rather tall, relatively thin, old Gamorrean male standing behind her, with Robb and Theon flanking him, each looking grim and wary as if they had been told some unsettling secret.

"I'm sorry…" she asked, the annoyance creeping into her voice, "but who are you?"

"Name's Thrakas Lund," he retorted in a rough manner. "Minister of Arcadian Intelligence, and the one that's bloody paying for your boyfriend's little operation," he spat, lighting a cigar and sticking it in his mouth.

Sabine felt her blood boil. Was she supposed to feel honored by his patronage? With that condescending and rude tone, not to mention is complete lack of concern for the rules of this hospital, or any hospital, for that matter…well, it wouldn't be a surprise to anyone if she wasn't feeling particularly grateful.

"I'm…thankful for your help," she spat through clenched teeth. "If you don't mind though, I'd like some alone time with him, now, please?" she asked, neglecting to add 'or I'll take my Darksaber and shove it down your gullet, I don't care who you are'.

"Was planning to leave, anyway," he shrugged. "I've got to drag these two idiots along with me, though," he said, pointing his thumb back to Robb and Theon. "I need to debrief them on a…special assignment I'm asking them to join in on."

She quirked her eyebrow. "How do I know that you're not dragging them into a trap?" she asked. Call it a hunch, but she suspected that one didn't rise to the position of head of intelligence by being a nice or honest guy.

"Because, my lady, if I had any ill intentions, you'd be dead already, or sold off to the Empire…Sabine Wren," he stated matter of factly, shocking Sabine with the use of her name. "Don't act so surprised. I knew it was you the moment you walked in here, what, with your colored armor and hair and all. The first rule of spycraft; don't stand out. The second rule: don't set a pattern," he added and then turned to the two Westerosi crewmembers. "Well, the night is still young, gents. Let's head back to the Ministry. I'll have the doctor inform you of a change in Ezra's condition." With that, he walked out the door, soon followed by Theon and Robb, the latter turning his head and giving Sabine a sympathetic look before leaving.

She found herself alone with Ezra again.

"So," she began, unsure of what she should really say, first. "Arcadia's nice. The architecture here is beautiful, and I can't wait to see their famous iconoclastic paintings. You'd probably love the countryside more, though. It would remind you of back home. I think," she joked a little. When she saw her words had little effect, she despaired. Not being one to really give up, though, she tried a different approach. "I heard Empire Day is four months away. I know, you hate it, but I'm thinking of doing something special for your birthday. Something just for you, and me. But Life Day is coming up! I know how much you love that!" she added and then sighed. "I…don't know if you heard, but Zeb's gone. He went down fighting, though. Blew up the entire damned base in a blaze of glory," she attempted to joke, though it rang hollow in her ears. "Big purple oaf. That was just his style, though..." she finished, but when she looked at him, she saw that he _still_ wasn't waking up.

 _Haar'chak!_

"Ezra…" she pleaded, worming her gloved, flesh hand into his surprisingly warm, mechanical one. "I know you're in there, so please, listen to me. You need to wake up!"

Still no response.

"Ezra? Ezra!" she begged, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "You can't leave me like this. I need you by my side when I come home. I need you, period! I…" she trailed off for a moment, her fear now trying to hold her back, but it was too late. Everything that she was feeling, everything that she needed to say, to him and herself, need to be released.

And she let it fly.

"Ezra, **I love you**!"

* * *

 _He now found himself in a meadow, surrounded by tall, imposing mountains, and a green, living forest. He could hear the distinctive sounds of a babbling brook, and in the center of the meadow was a large weirwood tree._

 _He could see several people around this tree, laughing, drinking, and being merry. As he walked closer, he saw some very distinctive shapes…people who he thought that he'd never see again._

 _He saw his mother and father._

 _He couldn't believe it. Here they were, right in front of him. "Mom? Dad?" he called out, feeling tears stream down his face as he ran towards them._

" _Ezra!" Mira called out back to him, and he soon found himself in her warm, familiar embrace. All these years, and he was finally seeing them, again. Not as corpses, but as real, living beings._

" _My son," Ephraim greeted and put his large hand upon Ezra's shoulder. A warm, fatherly smile was plastered on his face. "You are a most welcome sight here, in the afterlife."_

 _His mind halted. Wait, the afterlife? Was he dead?_

" _Dad…" he sputtered out as he embraced him in turn. "I can't believe I'm seeing you all again."_

" _Better believe it, kid," a familiar voice greeted, and his heart sank. He looked up from his embrace to see Zeb smirking at him, nibbling on a piece of shura fruit._

" _Zeb, no…" he muttered, scarcely believing this to be real. "You can't be dead, as well."_

 _Zeb sighed, throwing the shura fruit away. "Sorry to say, kid, but I am. That walker's sword gutted me, see? I ended up blowing up the base though, heh. You should have seen it! Fireball bigger than five gravball fields, or…so they told me once I got here," he must have seen Ezra's tears, for he looked at him straight and rebuked him. "Kid, it wasn't your fault, ya hear? It was my choice, not yours. I don't want to see you go blaming yourself like you did for Malachor. Plus, Sabine will kick your arse if you started down that path, again."_

 _Ezra chuckled a little and wiped away a few tears, but then remembered something. "Wait, if this is the afterlife, then…"_

 _Ephraim shook his head. "No, son. You are not dead. In a comatose state, yes, but you are not fully on this plane. You must decide, though, if you wish here to remain with us, or if you want to remain with your friends among the living."_

 _Ezra paused at that. He wanted his parents, by the Force, he did, but…_

 _What would happen to Kanan, to Robb? How would Hera and Chopper act?_

 _What would become of Sabine?_

" _Your heart yearns for someone…" his mother observed._

 _Ezra sighed. His mom was always good at deciphering him. "Yeah, mom. A woman. She's a Mandalorian, and the bravest, most loyal, and the fiercest person I've ever met."_

" _Sabine, aye," Zeb observed. "Knew there was something going on between ya," he teased._

" _Yeah, well…" he retorted. "She doesn't feel the same way I feel about her."_

" _Don't be too sure of that, Ez," Zeb remarked. "I've seen the way she looks at ya. Plus, heard from Theon and Robb how you two were sticking your lips together on the bridge of the_ Katana _,"_ _he snarked. "Think about it. If Sabine didn't feel the same way, she would have let you know. Loudly."_

 _Almost as if on cue, he heard something. It was soft, feminine, and yet ethereal as if coming from another world. It came in faintly at first, and then, rose in crescendo, rising over the sounds of nature._

" _ **Ezra…I love you!**_ _"_

Sabine

 _He froze. She did love him. She…felt the same way about him that he felt about her._

 _He realized then and there that he could not stay in this place. He had to let the past go. The future was still in front of him._

 _A future he now saw himself truly sharing with Sabine, the woman he cherished._

" _Go, my son," his father called to him. "She needs you more than we do. It is your future."_

" _And we will always be waiting for you, Ezra," His mother assured._

" _Kid," Zeb called, just as Ezra felt himself leaving this plane. "May the Force be with you, always."_

* * *

"Ezra, **I love you!** "

She felt the tears flow freely down her face, now, as she gripped his new cybernetic hand even tighter.

Suddenly, she felt the hand twitch, and wrap around her fingers, firmly, but not crushingly. She looked at his face and saw him weakly open his eyes. He blinked for a moment and smiled at her.

"I love you, too, Sabine."

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She instead cried out in joy and relief, and immediately jumped on top of him-still mindful of his injuries, though- and started to kiss him, which he was all too willing to oblige. As their lips meet through her tears and his soft laughter, they knew one thing that truly mattered.

No matter what happened, they would have each other, from this day, until the end of their days.

And she would have it no other way.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, it took almost thirty chapters, but we're here! The moment you've all been waiting for. Sabine and Ezra have finally confessed their feelings for one another! I'm sure it's all going to be sunshine and lollipops from here on out, right?**

 **WRONG!**

 **Relationships, especially romantic relationships (most notably marriage), take work and will have their ups and downs. But if they communicate with and listen to one another, I think they'll be alright.**

 **Now, what does this mean for Sabine when she finally does come home? Well, you'll see… *cue dramatic music***

 **Next chapter will be a Theon POV, and it is here that I will informally introduce his nemesis. Game of Thrones fans will know who I'm talking about, but for the rest of you…well, let's just call him Westeros' version of the Joker…**

 **This next chapter will also serve to kick off the main plot point of my Arcadian Arc. Politics and intrigue abound for our heroes, and they will learn that not all enemies are fought with swords and guns, for when you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die. There is no middle ground.**

 **Now, this will be my last chapter before January, as I want to spend time with family. With that, have a very blessed Christmas, and I'll see you after the New Year!**

 **Ciao.**


	30. Theon III

Compared to the rest of Lanopolis, which was bright and awash in color and light, the complex which housed the Ministry of Intelligence- the Oculus- was downright dull and laconic. The Oculus was a squat, grey, and round building, designed in a shape of an all-seeing eye as seen from the air; hence the uncreative name, Theon mused. The building one saw from the air or ground, however, was only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg- most of the complex extended two kilometers underneath the ground, housing thousands of offices, departments, sub-departments, briefing rooms, quantum computers, training areas, a gymnasium, a pool, and more than a few interrogation chambers- a fact which made Theon distinctly uncomfortable…for reasons that should be obvious to those who knew him.

Currently, the three of them were walking to one of the smaller briefing rooms in Sub-Level Twelve. A man off the streets would have found it odd that there were no security guards present, but Theon knew better- the guard droids in this place were everywhere, and used pathways that the organics didn't, which were hidden from everyone but a select few. This did not consider the various traps, motion and heat detectors, cameras, voice recorders, and biometric scanners put in place everywhere.

Duke Lund was nothing if not cautious. Some would even say 'paranoid'…but then again, weren't most spooks?

"This way, gentlemen," Lund gruffly beckoned, shooing the Westerosi duo into the briefing room.

It was a small room, complete with only a couple of desks and a grand total of eight chairs. Obviously, this room was used as an impromptu debriefing chamber for the various department heads, judging by how clean and orderly it was. Theon suppressed a grimace as he and Robb took their seats. Whatever was happening must be of the utmost severity, he supposed, but why was Lund dragging them into this, when he had a literal army of spies and hackers at his beck and call?

"Right," Lund interrupted his thought process, darkening the room somewhat and turning on the holoprojector, "I suppose you two are wondering why I dragged you back into my bloody business."

"An explanation would help," Robb deadpanned. "For instance, why is the Home Fleet parked in orbit, ready to shoot at anyone who so much as looks at Arcadia funny?"

"You'll find out the reason soon enough, wolf," Lund answered, lighting yet another cigar. Theon was surprised that he wasn't dead from cancer, yet, given that the Gamorrean can smoke five of those things a day. "I take it both of you know about the assassination of General Eurydamas?" he asked them.

"Who hasn't?" Robb shot back. "It's been all over the Holonet recently. A man in charge of one of the seven elite tagmata divisions being butchered in his home isn't something that gets swept under the rug. I don't know the details, though…" he said, then asked, "Why are you asking us, though? Have there been similar murders?"

"As a matter of fact," Lund began, "yes, there have. Mostly low-level functionaries, though. Easily replaceable in the grand scheme of things, but lately there have been attempts on the lives of multiple high-level bureaucrats and local industry leaders, some of them successful."

"And who were these bureaucrats and industry moguls?" Theon asked.

"No one particularly important, except for the one key fact that ties them together," Lund informed him. "They were all vocal critics of the Hutt Council's recent actions to broaden ties with the Empire."

"So, you think that the Hutts are ordering hits on anyone opposed to the move," Robb observed while crossing his arms. "Do you have any proof, or is this just speculation on your part?"

"No proof, yet," the gruff Gamorrean admitted, "but with Eurydamas now dead, it holds a pattern. I'd have no doubt in my mind that Jabba would love nothing more than to assassinate his grace and replace him with that easily controlled twat brother of his. Mark my words, Stark, someone powerful on this side of space is trying to bring down Arcadia, and I'll not stop until I have the head of the bastard responsible sitting on a pike."

"You think it could be the Imperials ordering these assassinations?" Theon proposed. "The Emperor doesn't strike me as a man who would just ignore the vast wealth and resources generated by this region of the galaxy, and the King is no friend to Coruscant."

"I've considered it," Lund admitted, "but right now, though, I'm pursuing every possible lead. Could be the Imperials, could be the Hutts, could be both. Hell, it could be fucking Black Sun, for all I know…." he trailed off, "but I'm getting ahead of myself. Right now, we need to find the man who's been doing the murdering, and to that end, I've compiled a slideshow of forensic evidence that was taken from the scenes of his crimes. I don't think I need to remind you, two morons, that what you are about to see is, well, bloody."

With that, he clicked on the holoprojector, and before them appeared a scene painted in blood and gore.

The picture was that of a living room that was smashed nearly to pieces and covered in blood as if two animals had been ripping each other apart in it, but that's not what caught Theon's attention.

No, what caught his attention was the man tied to a saltire upside down, every inch of his body flayed, save for his hands, feet, and head.

A chill ran up Theon's spine, and a pit of dread was beginning to form in his stomach. Call it a hunch, but it reminded him of…

No, there was no way! That evil son of a bitch was dead, mauled to death by his own starving hounds. He couldn't have come back!

 _But you and Robb came back, didn't you_ , a voice inside his head reminded. _Who's to say that_ he _didn't also return?  
_ "The method of killing looks…familiar to me," Robb commented, concentrating on the flayed man in front of him. "I take it all the victims were found like this?"

"Most of them, yes," Lund confirmed. "A few, though, were found mauled to death by some sort of canine, judging by the animal tracks, and of those, the female victims were found to have been sexually assaulted before their deaths.

The pit in Theon's stomach grew. He could almost hear his mocking, maniacal voice, now, and see that maliciously grinning face, with eyes the color of dirty chips of ice and messy hair the shade of space itself.

"Hmmm…" Robb thought out loud. "Do we have any audio recording of an assault? Voice identification would make it easier."

"Even better," Lund answered, taking a puff of smoke, "we've got video footage of what happened in Eurydamas' estate. Truth be told, very few things I've seen in my forty-odd years in intelligence work match the level of fucking depravity on that video, let alone surpass it." He then clicked a button on the little remote he used to control the projector, and the slide flipped to a recorded video. Thrakas hit 'play', and the scene began to play out.

He must have skipped ahead to where the assault had already happened, Theon deduced, for he saw Eurydamas tied to a saltire, half-naked and bleeding from cuts and bruises all over his body. He had a look of murderous, defiant fury in his old eyes, though Theon suspected that might change soon.

All around the tied up, beaten old man were mercenaries, all wielding weapons, with some wearing armor and some just plain traveling clothes…all except one, that was.

The one exception was wearing black clothing. Black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, black boots, black cloak, black everything, including his hair. As a matter of fact, the only parts of him that weren't black were his pale white skin and his pale grey eyes…and a grey, durasteel lower jaw.

 _No._

Theon felt his heart start to race, faster and faster. It couldn't be! He was dead! Dead! Sansa herself told him that she had fed that sadistic psychopath to his own dogs!

The voice he heard next, though, only shattered his delusions.

" _So, General Eurydamas, is it?"_ the man said in an all too familiar, sickly sweet voice, though it was now muffled by the iron jaw. " _I've heard so many wonderful tales about you, sir! Fought in the Clone Wars, became a leader of one of Arcadia's elite fighting divisions. Such an_ impressive _resume. I guess it would have to be, though. You are a living legend, after all. Shame though, it has to end like this."_ Theon saw him pull out a knife- the hooked kind one uses for skinning animals. _"Now, you may be wondering, what I'm about to do, and why I'm doing it. Well, for the first question, I'm going to be making you feel a lot of pain and suffering. Secondly…there is no reason…well, there is one. I enjoy this. Oh, and try not to pass out too quickly. I need you awake for every minute of this…"  
_

At this, Theon seized up, falling over backward in his chair, and he lost sight of the known world. All he could see, and hear, and feel was that demented bastard and his sick laughter, as he also felt the tip of a knife being pressed into his skin.

 _Reek, reek, it rhymes with freak._

 _Reek, reek, it rhymes with shriek._

 _Reek, reek, it rhymes with meek._

 _Reek, reek, it rhymes with weak-_

"Theon!"

A shout snapped him out of his flashbacks and torments, and he looked up to see Robb staring at him with a frightened look on his face.

"Robb…" he whispered, "it's him…"

"Him, who?" Robb asked him, touching a hand on his face. "Theon, you're whiter and colder than snow right now. Who is it?"

"Ramsay…" he admitted quietly as if speaking that monster's name out loud would summon him. "Ramsay's returned."

"Who the fuck is 'Ramsay', and how do you know him?" Lund asked, now apparently incensed. "Greyjoy, if you're hiding something…"

Theon held up his hand to interrupt him, as he was being helped up by Robb. Sitting back down, he took a few, unsteady, shaky breaths before he could get his heart rate back to normal. When he finally calmed down enough, he decided to inform Lund of everything that happened in the past.

Well, almost everything. Somehow, he got the feeling that telling the Duke that he and Robb had come from the distant past on some backwater planet wouldn't go over well.

"His name is Ramsay Bolton," he began, pointedly refusing to look at the image of the cruel bastard on the camera. "He…he was the one who tortured and emasculated me. He turned me into some pathetic little slave creature he paraded around and called 'Reek'. I thought…I thought that he was dead."

"So, that's why your hands were so jacked up when I met you," Lund realized aloud, "and also why you look like an old geezer in your thirties…and he…emasculated you? Removed your rod and stones and everything, eh?"

"Yeah, he did," Theon snapped. Did this guy have to go into the personal details? "What of it?"

"Well, as I see it, saving Arcadia will come with a side of personal revenge on your part," Lund proposed. "This madman…this 'Ramsay'…well, it sounds like you two have quite a history with him."

"You could say that, though myself notably less than Theon," Robb answered. "Which brings us me to my own question; you have a literal army of spies and hackers at your beck and call. Why are you relying on Theon and me?"

"Because, contrary to popular belief, you two were the best trackers in my service. Plus…" at this, Lund sighed and pinched his snout, "I'm afraid we have an intelligence leak. Every time we try to catch this Bolton bastard, he's given us the slip at every turn. It's like he knows we're coming; every trap we've set for him he's foiled, and every lead we pursue has turned out to be a dead end, and I also know for a fact that he's been funded by someone with incredible wealth. We catch this bastard, we find out who's been ordering him to brutalize our citizens, and who's been trying to weaken Arcadia. To that end, my sweets, I can't rely on my own men, so I'm choosing to trust you."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Theon asked him. "Ramsay is far more cunning than you give him credit for, and he doesn't need permission to torture and brutalize people. He does it for _sport_. It's all a sick game to him- he thinks everyone in the galaxy has the potential to be his personal plaything. The fact that he's apparently receiving compensation and manpower for this task only drives him, more. Pretty soon, he'll just start hunting down targets outside his mission parameters."

"All the more reason to catch him, then," Lund reasoned. "A psychotic cur like Bolton deserves to be put down. I'm sure you agree…" he paused for the slightest of moments, "By all the evidence my agency and the local constables have collected thus far, and if the pattern he's established holds, we have reason to believe that Ramsay's next target will be the Crown Prince."

"Alexios?" Robb asked. "I haven't seen him in a while. How's he holding up?"

"Stoic as ever, and just as, well, just," was Lund's blunt reply, "and about to get married to the wealthiest bachelorette in the kingdom. Theodora Palagis.

"That's news to me," Robb deadpanned. "When is this wedding supposed to take place?"

"About a month from now, on Life Day, actually. There are going to be attendants from all over the galaxy. Tried to convince the king that this was too lavish an expense and that his son would be too exposed to any assassins, but no. Told me that this wasn't for us, but for the people, that they needed to see their future ruling king and queen," Lund ranted, then he started to rub his chin. "Maybe…Hmmm, yes, that could work…"

"What do you have in mind?" Theon asked him.

"It's very simple," he answered, "we lure Bolton into a trap. A public outing like this? I doubt a sick fuck like him will resist the urge to make a statement."

"You're still making the mistake of underestimating him, Thrakas," Theon warned him, his voice going from quiet to loud. "You may have spent forty years in intelligence, but I know the man. He doesn't fall into traps; he lays them!"

"Hence why we have to make the bait irresistible," Lund countered, seemingly ignoring the point Theon was trying to make, "Therefore, I'm going to assign the four of you to a mission, to 'infiltrate' the wedding and the reception as guests. Ramsay shouldn't resist the lure of potentially meeting his old playmate, again…"

Wait…

What?

"What do you mean 'the four of us'…" Robb asked before trailing off. Theon saw his eyes widen as he realized what Lund was asking, and he suddenly stood up, the wolf fully awakened within his friend.

"No, absolutely not!" Robb roared at the Duke, who had an impassive look on his face. "Ezra has suffered enough bullshit this week, and so has Sabine! Not to mention the fact that you're seriously considering having my friend, here, confront the man who tortured him to the point of insanity!"

"Well, consider this a payment for your little Loth-rat's operation," Lund calmly stated, though there was a dangerous undertone to the relatively calm voice, "and yes, I am considering that. To protect Arcadia, I would sacrifice anything. Including the lot of you." The Duke then got up and made his way out the door. "You'll find your mission objectives and parameters already downloaded into your datapads. I've also taken the liberty to set the four of you up for an audience with His Grace in a week's time. I suggest you look presentable and work on your manners before then, gentlemen."

"And what of Ezra and his injuries?" Robb asked.

"He should be healed up and raring to go, by then," was Lund's answer. "Oh, and I forgot to inform you two twats that Ezra's awake. Congratulations."

With that, Lund walked out the door, indicating to both of them that they were now dismissed and expected to carry out his wishes, leaving a fuming Robb behind, and a terrified Theon.

One thing was clear to him, though.

He would not let himself be captured by that psychotic cur, again.

Not if he could help it.

* * *

As they left the Occulus and were returning to the Heraclius Memorial Hospital via speeder, the trip was mostly silent, until Robb decided to ask him something.

"A credit for your thoughts?"

Theon didn't respond for a bit. All he could do was replay Ramsay's most significant words to him in his head.

 _If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention_

"Theon?"

Theon sighed "Just worried that Lund's in way over his head this time, and that he's dragging us back into this shitshow. He's underestimating Ramsay's cunning. Did I ever tell you that bastard nearly defeated Jon in battle? He had the Stark forces on the ropes, and it would have been the end for all of us were it not for Sansa showing up with the Vale knights when she did."

"No, you didn't…" Robb confirmed. "Just how bad is he?"

"Worse than nearly any Lannister or Imperial you've come across," was his reply, "he's sadistic, bloodthirsty, and cunning. His only real weakness is his impulsivity and his arrogance, and even then, those are hard to exploit when considering his strengths in psychological and terror warfare."

"So, who do you think he's working for?" Robb asked.

"I would normally say 'himself', but as Lund pointed out, he's being too well funded and supplied for that. Someone is giving him backing, that much is clear. He couldn't have come up with the funds for an entire gaggle of mercenaries on his own, after all. He doesn't think that far ahead," he answered. "Have you called Hera, yet?"

"Haven't found the time yet," Robb confessed. "I did ask Rau if what Lund said about Ezra is true. He sent me this."

Robb typed something into his datapad and handed it to Theon. Upon taking it, Theon found a heartwarming picture.

He saw Ezra on his hospital bed fast asleep, a beatific smile plastered on his face. Cuddled in his now cybernetic left arm was an equally sleepy Sabine, and around the foot of the bed, the two direwolf pups were curled sound asleep.

"Rau told me that Sabine and Ezra had confessed to each other when he woke up," Robb informed him upon taking the pad back. "Bout time they did, too. I couldn't stand one more minute of the romantic tension between the two."

"Did Sabine mind that particular invasion of their privacy?" Theon asked.

"It was after they had admitted that they loved each other did he walk in the door, and he had asked permission to come in, or so he told me, so, no," Robb clarified. "Still though, this will present…complications for both of them."

"You mean with Sabine returning to potentially lead her people," Theon realized.

"Aye," Robb nodded, "if the Mandalorians hear she is pledged to someone else, the offer of a marriage alliance will be off the table, something that might be crucially needed, and if they hear that a Jedi is her consort…"

"They'll flat out refuse or worse, side with the Empire…that is if they don't hang her for a myriad of other supposed crimes, first," Theon finished. "One thing at a time, like I've always said. Let's worry about Ramsay and whoever is behind him, first."

"Will you be ready for whenever we have to face him?" Robb asked him, and Theon grimaced. To be honest, no. He'd not expected Ramsay to return from being dog chow, after all.

"I'll have to be…" was all he answered.

He just prayed he would be when the time came.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm back in the saddle again!**

 **Yep, so…Ramsay's back!**

 **For those who don't know, he's the biggest piece of shit that has ever graced Martin's pages. He's cunning, cruel, sadistic, and bloodthirsty, and has the impulse control of a ten-year-old. In other words, he's the Joker without any face paint.**

 **The Arcadian arc, among other things, is going to set up Theon's storyline in general.**

 **For those who are wondering, I based Duke Lund off of Sigismund Dijkstra from the critically acclaimed Witcher 3, and as for the Crown Prince Alexios? Well… you'll see, although you who are familiar with Game of Thrones should be familiar with whom I'm basing this guy off of. Now, as to why Lund is potentially putting the wedding at risk? I'll explain to you, later. ;)  
**

 **Next chapter will be a solid Ezra chapter and will deal with his recovery from his wounds, as well as formerly introducing the King and his court himself.  
**

 **Until the next time!**


	31. Ezra VI

He awoke feeling something wet and sloppy on his face.

Ezra opened his eyes and found Storm happily licking away at him with his bristly tongue, still apparently quite happy that his master was awake and alive.

"Storm," he commanded, laughing as his direwolf's tongue tickled his cheek, "I'm alright, boy, but for the love of Lothal's moons, I need you to get off!"

He tried to push Storm away from his face, though he found he really didn't need to, as the direwolf apparently took the hint and jumped off the bed, still looking up at his master and happily wagging his tail, occasionally giving a joyous yip.

It was then he noticed the warm, familiar presence curled up beside him. He looked over to his left and found Sabine still fast asleep in her armor, her face pressed firmly on his chest and her left arm draped over his shoulder. He smiled, and quietly planted a kiss on her forehead.

She stirred, opening her mouth to yawn, and tired amber eyes opened to look at him.

"Morning, sleepy-head," he joked as she smiled back at him. "Seems like we overslept."

"Mmmm…" was her tired reply. "What time is it, Ez?"

"Well, let's see…" he replied, looking over the right side of the bed, and saw the sun already out and shining brightly, its white light bathing the city in its glow, "it looks like it's mid-morning, already."

"That late in the day?" she questioned, raising her head as well to look at the sun. Then she looked at the chronometer on her vambrace. "Damn. 1030 already. We slept in pretty late." She looked back at him with concern. "I hope we haven't missed your rehab appointment."

Ezra grimaced and looked at his left arm, which was now machine, carbon fiber, and metal plating. Of course, he realized. He'd have to relearn how to walk and grab things with these new limbs, not to mention that he'd also have to relearn how to use the Force through his left hand.

Sabine must have seen his face sour, for she quickly stammered out an apology. "Ezra, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He sighed. "You're fine, Bean. I'm not upset…not at you. It just sucks, is all," he said, looking at her with an earnest expression. "Zeb's gone, I'm half a cyborg, and we can't go back to Atollon. I don't know if Hera and Kanan even made it to Yavin with the fleet," he confessed, neglecting to add that psychotic droid they had found onboard the flagship.

Come to think of it, HK and Chopper would probably hit it off great…

"I'm sure they did," Sabine offered, trying to cheer him up. "If anyone could make sure that those ships made it to Yavin, it's her."

His smile returned "True," he supposed, then his grin widened. "You know something? Technically, this is our first time sleeping together," he teased her.

She responded by playfully hitting him in the arm, followed by a mumbled "Shut up, Ez," before she leaned in for a kiss, which he happily obliged.

After what seemed like a minute of them locking lips, Sabine broke off the kiss and hopped off the bed, walking away to stretch her limbs out, right as the nurse came in.

"Mr. Bridger?" the red-skinned nurse asked him, her golden eyes scanning him once over with professional neutrality. "Good to see you up, sir. My name is Calla, and I'll be the one who will guide you through your rehabilitation procedures. How are you feeling?"

"As well as any man who's had half his limbs replaced by cybernetics," he quipped, waving his left arm while struggling to control its motions.

"You're talking and interacting with me just fine," she responded, "and you don't appear to be under any duress." She crossed her arms. "I'd like for you to try to stand for me, Mr. Bridger. If you would please try to get out of the bed…"

Sabine immediately moved to assist him as Ezra swung his legs over the hospital bed, one flesh and one machine. He stood…and wobbled, as his new leg was not yet used to supporting his weight.

His girlfriend immediately caught him, preventing from falling flat on his face. She gave him a look of sympathy and love as he struggled back to his feet, and started to take a few, unsure, tentative steps forward.

His cybernetic leg was beginning to respond better to his brain sending it commands, and soon, his footsteps became more sure and steady as he walked forward towards the nurse. Maybe he just needed to get used to the new limbs…

"Alright…" Calla said while nodding her approval, "let's see you try to walk without the support of your friend."

Ezra doubted for a moment, then looked at Sabine, who nodded to him as a signal of her absolute devotion and trust.

He gulped, and let go of Sabine, and began to walk forward again, putting one foot in front of another. Baby steps, in other words.

As he inched closer towards the nurse, he began to increase his pace and the distance between his steps. Soon enough, he had reached the nurse without assistance and felt he could walk normally. Even though his leg was now machine and metal, it was almost as if he had never lost the original. His new limbs were becoming a metaphorical part of him as much as a physical one.

Hmmm…. that was quick.

He looked down at his cybernetic hand and started to flex it. At first, the fingers acted sporadically, responding haphazardly to his unspoken neurological commands. After what seemed like several minutes of doing this, however, his fingers started to act like normal, and he soon found that he could flex, ball his fist, and move his arm just like it was one made from flesh and blood.

"Impressive," Calla complimented, "you're recovering the use of your limbs quite nicely. Now, if you'll let me check on your burn scar. Please, lift up your gown."

Ezra did as he was told, and lifted his hospital gown, allowing Calla to check out the scar on his side.

"Hmm, alright. It looks like you are all healed, Mr. Bridger. I'll just have to get the doctor's permission, and you should be cleared to go from the hospital," the nurse informed him, "and if you need a place to stay, there is a hotel a few blocks down from here."

"Fortunately for him, he's staying somewhere better than a hotel," a familiar voice said, drawing everyone's attention to the room entrance. There Robb stood, smiling brightly at Ezra and Sabine, with Theon and Rau standing slightly behind him. "Ma'am, if you'll pardon us, we'd like to speak to them in private."

Calla nodded. "Of course, sir. I'll have his release papers ready within the hour. Just press the button to summon me, and I'll see you out of here."

With that, the nurse walked out the doorway, leaving the five of them alone in the recovery room.

Robb spoke first. "I see you've made a full recovery, Ezra," he observed. "How are your new limbs, brother?"

"About as well as I can hope for," he said. "Still would have preferred my flesh and blood ones, though…" he trailed off.

 _And that Zeb was still with us_.

Robb seemed to know what he wasn't saying, for he nodded somberly. "I know," he said, "I miss him, too. If we had just bombed that place from high orbit…" he trailed off for a moment, then sighed. "But he would want us to move forward, regardless of our regrets on the matter."

"Yeah, …he would have," Ezra agreed. A question then came to his mind. "Have you talked to Hera and Kanan?" he asked.

Robb nodded. "Aye, and it went…a bit better than I had hoped," he informed them. "They're happy that you're alive and in mostly one piece, and aggrieved by Zeb's death…" he trailed off again before speaking. "She…wasn't as angry at me as I was expecting. I'm…well, I don't know if I should be relieved that she bears no ill will towards me, or if I should bury myself in shame."

"Hera's not one to bear a grudge against anyone, Robb," Sabine reminded him as she came to stand next to Ezra, "that is…if you weren't trying to deliberately hurt her or her crew."

"Yes…" Robb agreed before a light of remembrance flickered on his face. "Ah, which reminds me, Theon and I took a little detour and brought you some new clothes, Ezra. You wear mediums, right?"

"Yep," was his reply. Theon walked forward and brought him a bag, brown and heavy. Ezra took it and opened it up to see three pairs of dark orange t-shirts, three sets of dark, naval blue cargo pants, and several pairs of fresh underwear and socks. On top of this were a pair of sturdy, brown boots

"Wow…" was all he could say. "How did you guys afford all this stuff?"

"Thank the gracious patronage of Duke Thrakas Lund, Minister of Intelligence here on Arcadia," Robb spoke, his voice suddenly going cold, "and he does not expect his service done for free."

"Sounds like we just got drafted into something," Sabine observed. "What did that guy pull us into, exactly."

Theon sighed, "You want the long version or the short version?"

"Hmmm…short and to the point, I guess," Sabine answered.

"Very well," Robb stated. "We've all been drafted by the Duke and His Grace into a top-secret assignment. We've been tasked to lure out and capture a prolific killer- a murderer from mine and Theon's past."

Ezra grimaced. "Who is this guy?" he asked.

"His name is Ramsay Bolton," Theon answered, suppressing a shudder. Ezra could only guess that Theon had a history with this 'Ramsay' guy and a bad one at that. "To say that he's a monster is…well, let's just say your average Inquisitor would be terrified of him, and rightly so."

"He Force-sensitive?" Ezra asked.

Theon shook his head. "No. But he's cruel, sadistic, and bloodthirsty. He hunts and flays people for sport, to give you a small example of some of his activities. What's more than that, though, is that he's _cunning_."

"How so?" Ezra asked.

"He loves to play mind games with people," Theon admitted after a moment of silence, and when he answered his voice had become quieter. "He lets you think that you've escaped him, or that you've won, only to find out that you've fallen into another one of his traps."

Now Ezra was curious. What happened to Theon that made him so terrified of this man? Before he could inquire, however, Sabine interjected.

"Alright, so this guy's bad news," she said. "But why does it involve us?"

"Lund believes that Ramsay's next target is the Crown Prince Alexios Beniko," Robb explained. "He also believes that someone is behind Ramsay's actions and that a member of the Arcadian government is leaking information to him about any operation aimed at him."

"Who would do such a thing?" Ezra asked.

"Lund isn't sure," Theon answered, "but among his prime suspects right now are the Hutts."

"The Hutts?" Sabine repeated. "Why would they want to cripple Arcadia's leadership? Arcadia protects them, ensures the Empire is kept out for the most part, and usually looks the other way when the Hutts are doing more…illicit things."

Robb looked around at them for a moment. "I assume neither of you knows that much about Arcadia's history?"

Ezra shook his head, while Sabine shrugged. "We didn't exactly go over Arcadian history in our studies back in the Academy. Too busy with other things, I suppose," she said.

"Well, suffice to say, ever since their founder, Arcus Beniko, took this planet for his own after he and his followers fled the destruction of the old Sith Empire thousands of years ago, the Hutts and Arcadians have had an intense relationship, to say the least. Complicating matters is the fact that Jabba and many members of the Hutt Council want to broaden ties with the Empire…"

"…and the king is very much opposed to that idea," Ezra finished. "So, I take it the plan is to capture Ramsay, make him reveal who's behind all this, and save the day?" He grinned, though it faltered when he saw the serious faces of both Robb and Theon. He sighed. "Alright, so it's that serious. What's the plan, then?"

"First," Robb began, "we're going to be meeting the king in a week from now. He's concerned about the safety of his son, and wants to be filled in on everything, understandably." He then looked pointedly at Ezra. "Try not to act like a thunderstruck fool, brother, when we visit the palace."

"Don't worry. I may have been a street rat and a beggar, but I'm not stupid," Ezra huffed. "Plus, my mom and dad didn't exactly teach me how to act at some king's court before they were arrested."

Robb shook his head. "I didn't say that you were stupid, did I? At any rate, Theon and I will give you the basic rundown on proper court etiquette to you, as I assume Sabine is already trained in it, right?" he asked her.

"You assume right," she confirmed. "Never cared much for it, though. At the time, I thought it took too much of my time away from my tinkering and my art."

"All the same," he reminded, "we need to be on our best behavior in front of the king and his family, which brings me up to my second point." At this point, Robb clenched his teeth. "Lund has tasked all of us to be guests at the wedding of the Crown Prince and his betrothed, Theodora Palagis. He wants to…use us as bait to lure Ramsay into a trap."

"A wedding?" Ezra repeated, not quite sure if he was hearing right.

"Bait?" Sabine snarled. "After all we've been through? After all, we've suffered, that kriffing pig wants to use us as bait for a madman?"

"He does, aye," Robb confirmed, "but Theon and I don't. We've come up with a different plan entirely."

"Something far better than what Lund plans, and hopefully won't put an entire wedding party at risk just to catch one man," Theon added.

"Ok, now I'm curious…" Ezra spoke, "What do you two have planned?"

"First…you two are going to the wedding, but not as bait," Robb explained. "You will instead be going to covertly uncover whoever is behind Ramsay's actions. Who knows, you two might have a good time there." He looked at them both. "Do either of you know how to dance, as actually dance? Formally?"

"Nope," was Ezra's reply. "Didn't have time to learn how, surviving on the streets and all."

"I'm a Mandalorian," Sabine added. "We don't do _dancing_."

"As I can confirm," Rau finally spoke.

Robb looked at Ezra and Sabine. "Truly? Neither of you knows how to dance?" He turned to Theon in mock horror. "By the gods, Theon, must we show these kids everything?"

Theon chuckled. "Apparently so. Fret not, my friends. We shall teach them to dance so finely it will make the Maiden herself jealous!"

"Ok, fine," Sabine huffed. "So, I take it then you two and Rau will be hitting the streets in search of this Ramsay guy?"

"More or less," Theon muttered, apparently unenthused about the situation, which made Ezra's curiosity only grow ever more.

It was at that moment that Ezra's stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear, and a sharp pang of hunger overtook him.

"Um…" he began, "I'd love to go over more of this plan, but right now, I'm kind of hungry."

Robb laughed. "Hah. Very well. Go ahead and get dressed, and well get out of here. There's a nice little mom and pop restaurant just a few blocks east of here. We can stop at before we head to the palace. His Grace has invited us to stay in the Royal Apartments for the duration of the month before the wedding is to take place."

* * *

It had been over a week now, and Ezra still couldn't get over the beauty and grandeur of Lanopolis. Once when he was seven, he had thought that Capital City on Lothal was the biggest and greatest thing in the universe…though, according to his parents, Capital City hadn't always been called that, but rather something else in the native Lothalian tongue.

Compared to Lanopolis, though…Capital City might as well be a small, backwater village, and the Royal Palace made the Imperial Administration Building look like a pauper's hovel, as he discovered.

Covered in shining gold domes and towers, constructed using white marble and granite, and protected by a thirty-meter-high wall, the Royal Palace was the pride and joy of the House Beniko, and one of the highlights of Arcadian architecture, engineering, and culture along with the Grand Basilica and the Periclean Walls that protected the city, or so Sabine had told him.

Ezra noted how large the complex was, as they were currently making their way to the Gilded Hall- the main audience chamber and throne room in the palace. There was a throne room, kitchens, dining rooms, pools, a gymnasium, apartments, and suites for the king and all his family and councilors, as well as a guest apartment for envoys and visitors of importance. Hell, there were even private shooting ranges, a bolo-ball field, and a private park…all for the pleasure of the royal family and the courtiers- though Ezra and Sabine had been allowed to use the park for their wolves.

Truthfully, Ezra never understood why someone would ever need this much stuff. All he required was food, water, a decent place to sleep, and family. He certainly had no need of palaces and servants, let alone a throne or a crown.

As they walked into the Gilded Hall, Ezra was taken aback by the grandeur of the chamber. Tall, imposing marble columns and arches supported the domed roof, painted in rich shades of gold and scarlet that gave the chamber its name, with the banner of House Beniko draped all around- a golden eagle on a dark purple field. Between the columns and arches were statues placed in alcoves. Who these statues represented, Ezra had no clue, but if he had to guess, they were of famous past kings and queens of Arcadia, like the one in the central courtyard of the first Arcadian king's mother and namesake of the city, Lana Beniko.

At the end of the hall, on a dais of marble which ascended eight steps, stood a throne carved entirely from a smooth, shiny black material that looked almost like glass to his eyes. If he had to make an educated guess, he'd assume that the throne was made from obsidian.

On that obsidian throne sat a man, clothed in fine, scarlet garments. Upon his head sat a crown, bejeweled with topaz which reflected his greying, golden hair and his sparkling golden eyes. Although this man was elderly, he in no way appeared weak. If anything, Ezra felt nothing, but strength and austerity radiate off this seemingly old man…as well as a powerful presence in the Force. Besides this elderly man sat another who looked like him, though this other man was younger- his hair was far more vibrant…and his gaze hard and unyielding. Through the Force, Ezra could tell that this man had a will of pure iron, and judging by the gold band on his head, he guessed that this must have been the Crown Prince, Alexios. Surrounding the monarch and his son was the palace guard, armed and armored in a style vaguely reminiscent of the Mandalorian _beskar'gam_ Sabine and Fenn wore and colored in hues of bronze and cream.

"You stand before Lysandus of House Beniko, the Third of His Name," a steward greeted drolly. "King of Arcadia, Defender of the Faith, and Protector of the Realm. Who approaches the Onyx Throne?"

At this, Ezra noticed out of the corner of his eye that Robb and Theon were already on one knee, their heads bowed in respect. Not wanting to look the fool, Ezra followed suit, along with Sabine and Rau.

"It is I, your grace. Robb of House Stark," Robb spoke first, leveling his eyes at the king, "and these are my compatriots. Theon of House Greyjoy, Ezra of Clan Bridger, Fenn of Clan Rau, and Sabine of Clan Wren."

At the mention of Sabine's name, some of the guards came to rest their sword hands upon the hilts of their vibro-blades. Whomever these warriors were, they obviously knew who Sabine was, and they didn't exactly view her in a pleasant light, judging by the sudden feeling of hostility Ezra got from them.

"Ah, the infamous Grey Wolf and his compatriot, the Iron Fist," the old king spoke, his voice heavily accented and weary. "It has been long since the both of you set foot on our soil."

"Too long, your grace," Robb replied.

The king bade for them to stand, and as he did, he looked pointedly in Ezra and Sabine's direction.

"Ah, a Jedi comes into our halls," he spoke again, catching Ezra slightly off guard. "Yes, boy, I know what you are. You carry a certain walk about you that only the old order truly did. And you, girl, I know you as well," he said, turning to Sabine. "The White Raven, the Artist, or as my Exoristoi would say, the Traitress."

Ezra saw Sabine clench her teeth silently at the insult, and he felt nothing but pity for her.

"With all due respect, your grace," Rau spoke up, "my lady is no traitress."

"That might be so," the king spoke, "but you'll have a tough time convincing the rest of your people that you are no oath-breaker. What happened on Mandalore over five years ago has reached even my ears, Sabine Wren. That tribulation can wait, however," he said, looking at all of them. "My intelligence minister informs me that we must speak. I'd prefer to do this in private." He stood up from his throne and turned to his son. "Alexios, you shall hold court and receive any summons in my brief absence. I must speak to these five alone, my son."

Alexios nodded. "I shall do it, my lord father," he spoke with an air of brevity. Even the way this Crown Prince spoke sounded like iron to Ezra's ears, almost as if he spent half of his waking hours gritting his teeth.

Lysandus nodded to his son and sharply turned on his heel, flanked by two of the Exoristoi, and bade for the five to follow him to his private office.

After what seemed like five minutes of walking later, they finally reached the king's solar, which, contrasted to the throne room, was smaller and cozier. He took a seat at his desk, and for the first time, Ezra saw the weary old man that hid beneath the strong, dutiful mask, aged by time and the stress of running an entire nation for forty long years. The king looked at them all again, finally settling his worn yellow eyes on Robb.

"Now that we've no unwanted guests or prying ears, we can talk in private…" he sighed. "As you all well know, the life of my son and the future of my kingdom are both in grave jeopardy. Duke Lund informs me that the man who's slaughtered General Eurydamas and countless others is an old acquaintance of yours, no?"

"He speaks true, your grace," Robb answered him, "the killer's name is Ramsay Bolton, and he is a far greater threat than you probably realize, as my friend Theon could attest to."

Theon nodded. "This man is cunning, ruthless, and bloodthirsty to the extreme, your grace," he said. "You cannot underestimate the lengths he will be willing to go to get what he wants. "

"Nor will I," the king declared. "Which brings me to the next point- how do you two hope to accomplish your own tasks?"

"Simple, my king," Robb intoned. "Fenn, Theon and I will travel to the slums and the dirtier parts of the city. Ramsay's men looked like locally hired thugs, judging by what we saw in the footage. One of them will most likely be hanging out in one of the many bars and cantinas in the city, and as an addon, we don't look or act like spooks, so we won't alarm any of them just by walking into the bar. The human intelligence aspect of Lund's organization is admirable, don't get me wrong, but Ramsay and his men are wily. We'll lure Ramsay to us, using myself and Theon as bait, and then get him to talk."

"Very well," the king agreed, then looked at Ezra and Sabine. "What of these two, though? What is there purpose?"

"As Lund has informed us, your grace," Theon began, "there is a leaker among somewhere in your ranks. My best guess is someone in your intelligence community, but it could also be someone in your council. Those living in one's shadow are sometimes the least worthy of trust, after all."

"True indeed," the king mused, "but how do you propose that these two stop them?"

"Simple," Robb spoke up. "Ezra and Sabine will infiltrate the wedding and gala as two wealthy and affluent foreign nobles. I haven't come up with cover names, though."

"We'll figure something out," Sabine said. "Plus, I'm genuinely curious to see how Lothalians dance," she added with a twinkle in her eye.

"Pretty well, Mando girl," Ezra teased his girlfriend back.

"Then it is decided then," the king declared, interrupting their jesting. "I will set up a liaison with them to teach them the finer points of Arcadian court life. Now, if you don't mind me, gentlemen, I must speak to my two new guests in private."

That was an unusual request, Ezra mused. What would the king want with _them_? Two kids, relatively speaking? Surely, he'd want to speak to Robb or Theon instead.

It turns out though, that was exactly the case, as Robb quirked his eyebrow in question, then sighed and bowed. "As your wish, your grace," he relented, then turned to Ezra as he walked out of the door with Theon and Rau in tow. "We'll be waiting in the throne room outside," he said, then left them alone in the room with Lysandus.

An awkward, tense moment passed by before the king looked at them both, or, more pointedly, the lightsaber on Ezra's hip. "Where did you get your lightsaber, my young Jedi friend?" he asked. "It looks familiar."

Ezra unclipped Revan's lightsaber from his belt and held it up. "I found it in an old tomb along with Revan's armor and robes, your grace," he honestly spoke.

"Do you mind if I see it?" the king inquired, his eyes glazing over the lightsaber.

Hesitantly, Ezra handed over, not really wanting to part with it- as he was genuinely starting to feel a true connection to it as if the blade has always been his- but also not wanting to offend the king in any way, shape, or form. The king took the lightsaber, and, looking it over one more time, activated the blade, which sprang to life immediately. Unlike most other lightsabers, which shone in hues of sapphire, emerald, crimson, violet, or even topaz, this one was unique, for it blazed the color of dawn and fire.

The blade was a brilliant shade of orange.

He deactivated the lightsaber, running it over in his hands, musing out loud to himself. "Amazing," he whispered. "After all this time, the sword of my scion has been found…by a stranger… to this day, no one has been able to translate these runes…" He looked back up at Ezra and Sabine. "The House of Beniko is descended directly from Revan through our paternal ancestor, Theron Shan. His blood and power flow through our veins…a power that has been matched only by a certain few, young Ezra Bridger," he said, all the while never taking his curious golden eyes off the young Jedi.

"I…suppose you want the sword back, then?" Ezra asked sheepishly. "It is your ancestor's blade, after all, your grace."

Lysandus considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he denied, "that blade may have belonged to our ancestors, once, but it is you the sword chose. I can sense that much, at least," he said handing back the lightsaber. "Besides, I feel that you'll need that sword in the coming days, as well as you, Sabine Wren, will need your Darksaber. More importantly, however, you will need all your wits and senses, for our enemies will not face us on the battlefield, blade to blade or facing off with guns. Whoever moves against me and my family will stick to the shadows." He gave them both a serious look. "You have both entered the great game, now, and the great game is terrifying."

"Why is that, your grace?" Sabine asked. "Why is politics so…dangerous here?"

"Politics is deadly everywhere, Lady Wren," he answered, "for when you play the game of thrones, you win…or you die. There is no middle ground."

* * *

 **A/N: Well, after nearly a month, this chapter is finally done!**

 **So, you've met the King and his son. Will we meet the rest of his family and his counsel? Who are the Exoristoi, and where do they come from? Who is this liaison that Ezra and Sabine are supposed to meet? What will Robb and Theon find in the Arcadian underworld? Who is behind the plot to unseat the king and/or kill him and his family? What is the connection between the lightsaber and Ezra? Will anyone mention the threat of the White Walkers? What do those runes say? What is Ramsay's plan?**

 **Stay tuned to find out. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!**

 **Till the next!**


	32. Irene I

Weddings.

Weddings were _not_ her forte.

Ever since the marriage alliance had been announced between her stoic older brother and the frankly spoiled Theodora Palagis, the kingdom was abuzz with excitement and trepidation. Throw in the recent rising tensions with their slug benefactors and the recent string of murders terrorizing the planet…well, if someone said that everything had become hectic, it would have been close to the truth.

"My princess?"

A soft, feminine voice stirred her from her thoughts, and Irene turned from the window to look at the source of the voice; a young, copper-skinned woman with shining blue eyes and fiery red hair.

"My princess," the woman repeated, "your father and the rest of the councilors are expecting you in fifteen minutes, if I may remind you."

Irene smiled and waved. "Yes, Moreena. I haven't forgotten that my lord father requires me to listen to those old, scheming dotards, and as I recall, should you also not be there? You are my secretary, as I recall…"

Her dear friend, Moreena Krai, smiled back. "You needn't remind me, your highness. Truthfully, I was hoping at least for one day we didn't have any meetings or audiences. Frankly, we could both use a vacation."

"You speak truly, Mo," Irene chuckled, using the younger woman's nickname. "I suspect we've laid about long enough, though. Come on, let's head to the council chamber."

As the two women made their way towards the council chamber, Irene could help but wonder what would happen when her father passed on and her brother became king. Her father was a wise and fair king, loved by his people and respected by friends and foes alike. He had ruled the kingdom ably for the past forty years, over a period of mostly peace and plenty.

She wasn't a fool, of course. She knew that her father had help, particularly from Duke Lund and the rest of the councilors, and that the Hutts had remained wise enough not to go pissing off their primary source of protection, but by and large, it was by his hand that Arcadia became as rich and powerful as it had today.

Her thoughts then turned to her princely brother. Although Alexios had many of the necessary elements for being king, he lacked one vital thing in her view.

The ability to compromise.

She heard the whispers behind her back. She knew what the courtiers and lords said out of earshot, that the only one in her family that had a will of steel was her father. They said her uncle was pyrite; pretty to look at, but utterly useless when it came down to it, while Alexios was iron; hard and strong, yes, but brittle. He'd break before he bent.

As much as she loved him, she feared for the day he became king. He despised any form of corruption with his very being and saw the Hutts as the worst of the lot. Every time Jabba, Durga, or one of the other members of the Hutt Council came to their planet for a stately meeting, Alexios would always silently glare at them and grit his teeth. She was afraid that his unbending nature and extreme sense of duty and justice would drag them all into a war with the Hutts.

There was nothing quite as terrifying as a truly just man, after all.

She reflected further. Ever since their mother died all those years ago, Alexios became quite cold and stern. Not to say that he didn't feel love…far from it. He did love her and their father, after all. Duty, however, was his god. Not the Triarchy, not the Force, and certainly not passion.

A short time later, they had reached the council chamber, which was a relatively large room with a desk and twelve chairs placed in the middle of it, opening out into a balcony to the north, which gave one an excellent view of the city and the harbor.

On those twelve chairs were seated the men and women of the king's council; there was Duke Thrakas Lund, the Minister of Intelligence, sitting right next to her father, brother, and uncle to the right. To the left of him was Erik Vistula; the Lord Commander of the Exoristoi, and a sixty-year-old veteran of a thousand battles. Rounding out the rest were Belisarius Palagis, the Minister of Finance and uncle to Alexios' intended, then Peter Ceres, the Minister of War, followed by John Pallas, the Minister of Law, and the Patriarch of the Basilica, Michael, who was the seventeenth of his title. These men were next to Patricia Megara, who was the Lady Chancellor and a firm ally of her father's and Lund's, and finally, the elderly scribe known as Solomon, who was perhaps the wisest and kindest person on their council. All Irene knew of Solomon was that he was from Lothal like Moreena was and that he was of some distant relation to her family, sharing a common great-grandfather or such.

Irene took her seat at the table. Her father smiled at her.

"Ah, our late sleeper comes at last," Lund teased in that gruff tone of his. "Now that you're here, my princess, I believe that we can begin this session. Am I not correct, my Lady Chancellor?"

"Quite so, Duke Lund," Lady Patricia answered, pushing up her glasses before getting to business. "Our first order of the day is, unsurprisingly, the wedding between our crown prince and your niece, Belisarius. Specifically, how much this bloody thing is going to cost us."

"Money shouldn't be an object, Duchess Patricia," Belisarius coyly fired back, "I've been over the budget several times these past few weeks ever since the betrothal was announced. There is nothing I've found that would put us in the red if we hold this event, as big as it's going to be." He looked at the King. "And as an aside, your grace, we all well know that my brother is fronting most of the bill."

"I'm completely sure Comenius expects _nothing_ in return," Lund sarcastically droned. Before Belisarius could return a barb, Erik spoke up.

"If we may return to the wedding, my lords," he said, his voice radiating authority the way only a Mandalorian could, "my Exoristoi will not have the manpower to completely secure this event- not if it's as big as what it is purported to become."

"The Lanopolis Constable Department might be able to help," John sighed, "but if we do that, we'd stretch ourselves thin on the streets, and especially in the slums where they're needed most."

"I can spare a few MP battalions," Peter offered. "That should be enough to secure the event while not taxing the constables. Still, though, with our recently strained relationship between Nal Hutta, I propose that our current level of military readiness be maintained. To that end, I also propose that we go ahead with the acquisition of Incom's newest fighter model, your grace?"

"You're speaking of the T-65, yes?" the king asked him. "Isn't Incom scheduled to be nationalized, though?"

"Hence why they're trying to get rid of this fighter production line," Lund speculated. "Call it a hunch, but I get the feeling that they don't want a bunch of Core-born Moffs breathing down their neck and forcing them to build Seinar's shit toys. Plus, from what my agents tell me, this so-called 'X-Wing' seems to be a decidedly superior fighter to any form of TIE out there. Gods know that we could use that kind of advantage should war come between us and Coruscant."

"Indeed," the king agreed before turning to Belisarius. "Is there any room for us to buy this fighter line and begin production and training?"

"There should be, although we'd be cutting it awful close," Belisarius warned. "In other words, after this wedding, we can afford no other lavish expense for at least another cycle."

"I'm perfectly alright with that," Alexios said.

"As am I, my son," the king nodded. "Very well. Belisarius, Peter, I hereby authorize you to complete this transaction." He looked around the room. "Now, back to the wedding…"

At this next part, Irene saw her father groan and run his hand down his face. He turned to her uncle with an exasperated look on his face. "Do you want to tell them, or should I?"

"I will, brother," Ignatius answered him nonchalantly. "Ladies and gentlemen of the council, it appears that asides from our expected Hutt guest, Durga, we are also receiving an emissary from the Empire, as well."

"Great…" Lund droned with a roll of his eyes. "And as my little piglets tell me, it isn't Tarkin, as he's declined our invitation, nor is it Thrawn, or any of the Ruling Council, so that only leaves one-person asides from the Emperor himself."

At this, a silence fell over the table, then, a suddenly enraged Michael rose to his feet.

"Absolutely not!" he roared. "I refuse to let that heretic and murderer of children profane the Basilica with his blasphemous presence!"

"No one's particularly pleased about Lord Vader showing up, Patriarch Michael," Ignatius argued. "But I argue that this is a chance for us to potentially thaw relations with the Empire. Why this might even be the beginning of a productive relationship."

"Shut it, Ignatius," Lund snapped, drawing everyone's eyes to him. "We all know that you'd love to suck Palpatine's cock if it meant increasing your wealth."

"And you, Lund, would draw Arcadia and Nal Hutta into an open conflict with the Empire if you had your way," her uncle fired back.

"All these years together, and you still fail to heed me," Lund laughed. "Warfare, my dear Ignatius, is very much a last resort, and it always breeds trouble. The trouble I'd then have to solve by other means."

"Your subtler methods would just draw us into a war, anyway!" Ignatius snapped. "They'd be traced back to us, no matter how good your agents are at covering your tracks."

"On the contrary…" Lund warned, his voice going low. "The only way that we'd be exposed is if someone was leaking it to the Empire."

Before Ignatius could protest in righteous indignation, it was at this moment that old Solomon decided to speak up.

"Regardless of our feelings on the Empire, my lords," the old man spoke, his quiet voice forcing everyone to stop talking and strain their ears to hear, "we must all do our duty, even if it means entertaining the Emperor's right hand." He seemed to look past them with those half-blind eyes of his. "And every moment we spend arguing and insulting each other only cements bitterness and division…division those who seek to do evil will exploit. The Hutts. The Empire…and worse…" he said, shaking his head. "There is something horrible on the horizon, my fellow councilmen. I feel that there will be war in our days, and soon. I do not know who will be fighting or when it will occur, but it will occur soon…" he trailed off for a moment before resuming speaking, as if recalling a distant memory. "Robb Stark told me something once. He told me that 'winter is coming'. Time is now proving him right; the great winter of our lives is indeed coming, and Force help us all if we're not prepared."

His speech silenced the council, as they were unable to come up with any real dissent to his opinion. Irene realized that he had the right of it, as always. If they did not put aside their differences and stand united against their common foes, they would be crushed.

No wonder her father always relied upon him for advice, even in his twilight years.

After a good, long moment of silence, her father finally spoke up.

"Ladies and lords of the council, this meeting is adjourned," he announced. "Go in peace."

As everyone got up to leave, her father spoke up again, this time directly aimed at her. "Not you, Irene. I want you and your secretary to stay."

Intrigued, Irene did as she was commanded, opting to move to a chair closest to her father. As soon as she sat down, her father had a pitcher of wine summoned to them via droid and poured all three a glass. He was silent for a moment, contemplating on either what to say or something else, before turning fully to face his daughter.

"Why did you have me and my secretary hang back, father?" she asked him. She knew her father, though. If he wanted her to stay, it had to be something important. He saw little use in trivialities and pranks, after all. "You wouldn't have asked me to stay if it wasn't something important."

"Indeed," he said, his voice wearier than she had ever heard it before, "it is important. Very much so…" he sighed. "Only myself, Duke Lund, and a handful of others know this, and we are about to let you in on this secret…I fear that there is a plot to assassinate your brother and that it is connected to the recent string of murders, and to these increasing tensions with the Hutts."

Irene fell silent for a moment, shocked at this news. Did someone want to assassinate Alexios? Murder her brother? Who would have the gall to do such a heinous thing?

"Do we know who the assassin is, or who sent them?" she asked her kingly father, who nodded.

"The assassin, aye, though we only have a name. He apparently goes by the name of 'Ramsay Bolton', a human male from an unknown world, though I'd argue he's more beast than human, judging by the way he…mutilates his victims," he said as he clenched his fist. "As for your second question, neither myself nor Duke Lund has an answer for that, yet. Hence why I called you and your secretary in here, alone."

Irene put two and two together. "You don't know if someone on the council is leaking information to Ramsay…" she realized.

Lysandus nodded. "Your brother suspects something, but I will not tell him yet. He is a good man, a loyal, proud, and dutiful son, but he does not understand subtly like you, Irene. Therefore, I need you for this task…you and your secretary."

"What would you ask of me, father?" she asked him. For him, for her family, and for Arcadia, she would do almost anything.

"I am at your service, your highness," Moreena confirmed, backing up her best friend.

Lysandus took a gulp of wine before continuing. "The both of you will act as a liaison to two outsiders I brought in, a Lothalian and a Mandalorian. And together, you will uncover whoever is leaking the information to our enemies and bring the traitor to justice."

"So…" Irene repeated slowly, "you want me and my secretary to assist these outsiders in finding out whoever is behind the plot to murder my brother. Why me, though, father? Why not Lund or one of his spies, or Ceres and his men?"

"Because you are my daughter," he said with an air of simple clarity and love. "Out of all my councilors, only you and Alexios have risen above the petty power plays and twisted words. Lund is a good man, but he goes too far at times for our nation, and I don't trust my own brother with anything important. You know I keep him on this council, so I and the others can keep an eye on him, right?" he sighed. "Duke Lund is correct when he says that he desires to tie himself with Coruscant. I fear that he might have struck a deal with the Emperor to remove us and install himself as his puppet king."

"And the Hutts would just accept that, your grace?" Moreena asked their king.

"Jabba will accept whatever gets him the most coin," Lysandus bit out. "If he feels that he has far more to gain from Coruscant as a servant than as an independent ruler, he will sell us out in a Kuati minute. He and the rest of our benevolent benefactors are completely lacking in morals."

"Surely you can make Jabba see reason, right, father?" Irene asked. "He must see that Palpatine has a habit of breaking his word."

"I don't know if he cares about Palpatine being a liar. He is short-sighted, to put it mildly," he said as he cupped Irene's face with a gentle, withered hand. "My daughter, I will not always be around, and the Hutts will serve as one of your brother's greatest tests when he comes into his own, if not the greatest. He and you must stick together, no matter what. You are a Beniko, the scion of Revan's blood, and most importantly, a Princess of Arcadia."

"Why are you saying this, father?" Irene asked, a chill starting to crawl up her spine.

"My twilight is near upon me," he confessed. "I may look strong, daughter, but I feel my age catching up with me. I do not know how long I have left to live, but I feel in the Force that the day will soon come when you both will have to continue on your journey without me, as I rejoin your mother in Asha's embrace."

Irene nodded, silent as her father told her this. All her life, her father had been there for her and Alexios. He was the rock upon which they stood, the strong foundation upon which their lives were built. He taught both Alexios and her about right and wrong, about how to care for their people like a shepherd cares for his flock. She couldn't imagine a life without her father to guide them through life's troubles…but then again, Alexios had just entered his thirties, and she was twenty-seven, herself.

"Pardon, your grace," Moreena asked, interrupting Irene's quiet musings, "but where are these two offworlders that we're supposed to meet?"

"Ah, yes," the king exclaimed. "They're in the guest apartments. Room 404."

"Near the top floor, father?" Irene asked the king. "They must be fairly important to you if you placed them that high."

"They are," he said. "As a matter of fact, I have a feeling those two will be more important than even they, themselves, realize."

* * *

As Irene made her way to the upper floors of the guest apartment, she could not help but wonder who these off-worlders were. A Mandalorian and a Lothalian? She wondered if this Mandalorian was anything like Erik and the Exorsitoi; a grim, stoic, honorable lot through and through. As for the Lothalian, if he or she was anything like Mo, then she reasoned that they'd have nothing to be concerned with. Hell, she'd probably get along with this person, whoever they are.

"Well, we're here," Mo mentioned. Sure enough, they had come to a door that read '404'. "Should we knock, or barge in?" she asked her princess.

"Let's knock," Irene answered. "I'd rather not make any wrong impressions for our guests. Doubtless, they wouldn't take kindly to someone barging in and demanding obedience," she joked.

Mo nodded, and knocked on the door. A male's voice answered, calm and serene.

" _You can come in,"_ he answered. Irene saw her best friend freeze up, as a look of shock passed over her face.

"Wait," Mo said, surprise seeping into her voice. "I know that voice… it can't be…"

The door slid open, and it revealed two humans, one male, and one female. The male had sun-kissed olive skin, short, raven-colored hair, and clear blue eyes that sparkled with mirth and temperance in equal measure.

With a mechanical left arm, she could see why.

The female- the slightly shorter of the two, had dyed hair, white at the top and becoming purple towards the ends. Her skin was tanned, and her eyes narrow and the color of warm amber. Her face spoke of a serious, fiery demeanor, and would tell a person that one should not get in her way.

The greatest surprise, and slightly concerning thing, to Irene, however, was the two large, furry wolves flanking the both of them. The fur of the closer one was as black as midnight, and its eyes shared the color of her own- gold. The farther one had tan fur, and its eyes were the color of lilacs or the background of the royal banner.

And they were both looking at Irene and Mo, judging whether these interlopers should be greeted or rejected.

"Mo?" the young man exclaimed, apparently as shocked as seeing her as she was seeing him.

"Ezra?" Moreena asked. Before Irene could ask what was going on, Moreena cried out in joy and ran up to hug him, surprising the young man and the young woman, whom Irene deduced was the Mandalorian, judging by her distinctive, colored armor.

"Gods, how you've grown, little brother!" Moreena greeted Ezra as soon as she broke off the embrace.

"It's been a long time, Mo," he greeted back. "Speaking of which, I thought you and your family were living on Alderaan, now. What happened."

Her smile faltered. "It's… a long story, Ezra. I guess your tale is even longer, though. For instance, last I remember, all your limbs were organic, your hair was longer, and you weren't carrying a lightsaber."

"You're right, it is probably longer," he laughed. "I haven't introduced you to Sabine, yet."

"Ah, the Mandalorian!" Moreena exclaimed. "Is she your friend?"

"Girlfriend, actually," he said, and the look in his eyes when he said that told Irene that the young man truly meant that. The Mandalorian came to stand right by him and put her head on his shoulder, strongly indicated that she reciprocated feelings for him.

"Ah, I see..." Mo smirked. "So, have you two been kriffing yet?"

Ezra blushed hard while the Mandalorian- Sabine- huffed. Irene shook her head.

"Moreena, need I remind you that these two are our guests? I wouldn't go antagonizing them, especially since we have a Jedi and a Mandalorian on our hands," she reminded her friend.

Moreena relented. "Apologies, my princess. I will refrain from teasing them…" she said with a mischievous look in her eye. "Mostly."

Irene sighed. "I suppose that's as much as I can hope for." She turned to Ezra and Sabine. "Forgive me for not properly introducing myself. I am Irene Beniko, daughter of King Lysandus and Princess of Arcadia."

"Your Highness," Ezra said as he and Sabine bowed. Irene observed both. The girl, she noticed, was obviously of noble blood, as she bowed with fluidity and grace. She was apparently used to such customs on Mandalore, although that could hardly be considered surprising. The Mando'ade were a very much feudal society, after all, and so observed the customs of oaths and fealty quite regularly. The boy, on the other hand…well, it was obvious that he'd never really interacted with royalty before, as his bow was rough and lacking in grace.

"Pardon, my lady," Sabine asked, "but what are you and Moreena doing here?"

"My father," Irene began, "has assigned me and my secretary to be your liaisons for your mission to capture whoever is behind Ramsay Bolton, the monster who's been terrorizing our land and plotting to kill my brother. I assume so far that just you two, Moreena, the King, Duke Lund, and myself know of this.

"Three more knows of it," Sabine corrected. "It's true that Ezra and I have been tasked with going to this wedding and catching whosever is behind Ramsay. We have three friends tasked with catching the murderer himself."

"Interesting…" Irene mused. "May I ask their names? Don't worry. I won't inform anyone if that's what you're worried about."

"Sure," Ezra shrugged. "I don't see the harm in it. They're Fenn Rau, Theon Greyjoy, and Robb Stark."

Irene's heart stopped when she heard that last name. "I'm sorry…did you say…Robb Stark? As in, the Grey Wolf?"

Ezra looked at her sideways. "Yeah…" he began, now apparently unsure if this was a good idea. "I take it you know him?"

"We've met…" Irene said, and for now, it was all she was willing to say on the matter. "It would be nice to see him again, though," she confessed.

"He's out right now," Sabine interjected. "I can leave him a message if you want."

Irene shook her head. "No, no, that's alright. I'll see him when he gets back. Doubtless, it's important, and I know how much he doesn't like to be disturbed from his work," she sighed. "So, you two are going to infiltrate the wedding. Do you have any code names to pick out? Any nice, formal clothes to go in?"

Ezra rubbed the back of his head, "To be honest…no. We don't have enough money to buy clothes, and we haven't thought up some good names, yet. Our old ones are probably familiar to everyone, by now."

"Hmmm…" Moreena said out loud, putting her finger to her lips. "Well, we could help you buy some formal clothes for the occasion, and we can teach you both how to interact with the members of the court under your aliases."

"Of course, we'll also have to help you come up with a few good aliases, as well," Irene offered.

As they spent the evening discussing their plans, right on down to all the events planned for the wedding, Irene could not help but notice the wolves stare at her…

…and utter a low growl at Moreena.

* * *

 **A/N: And here is my introduction to my second POV OC, Irene.**

 **So, we are finally introduced to the king's council, as well as the rest of his family. How did Moreena end up here? And how does Irene know Robb? That will be revealed in the chapter after this next one, where I will formally introduce Malleus as his own POV.**

 **Yeah, my update times have slowed down these past few months, and I apologize for that. Been quite busy these past few months, honestly.**

 **As for the obvious question hanging in the air: No. This story is not sticking with canon, as you can already tell. Will it somewhat follow what happened in the series finale? Well, I might take some ideas from it, such as the world between worlds and such, but otherwise probably not.**

 **Oh well. Until the next time!**


	33. Malleus I

All roads lead to Coruscant, or so the old saying went.

It might have been something of an exaggeration, but ever since the founding of the Old Republic, Coruscant had been the center of the galaxy in more ways than one. It was, in Malleus' view, the heart of civilization- the shining light that gave haven in a dark, dirty, and corrupt galaxy. The Sith of old did not understand this. They had thought that Coruscant was a wretched, fetid thing meant to be pulled down by brute strength and force of arms alone. Even the great Vitiate, the most powerful and successful of the Dark Lords that had come before the time of His Majesty, did not truly understand the key to bringing down the Republic and their Jedi protectors.

But Darth Bane had understood. So too had every Sith Lord and acolyte since then.

The Dark Side, although it favored war and carnage, did not reward those who relied on brutality and savagery alone, as he had come to understand. Certainly, it's adherents were more powerful than the self-restrained- and therefore weakened- Jedi Knights, but power was meaningless without cunning and guile…something that even the mightiest Sith of old had failed to understand.

But Bane's Sith had understood this, and applied it, masking their power and appearing to be normal men and women, steadily building their wealth and connections over the centuries, slowly subverting and converting the Republic until it would eventually become the glorious Empire, and keeping the Jedi unaware until they were too blinded and weak to see the final blow coming from their own trusted men.

Although Malleus was not a Sith himself, he nonetheless considered himself grateful that he studied and trained under the two greatest and the most recent of Bane's legacy; Darth Sidious, better known to the galaxy at large as their beloved savior and Emperor, Sheev Palpatine, and his apprentice, Darth Vader, who to a select few was known to be the former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.

As he gazed out one of the windows of the throne room of the Imperial Palace, which was once the Jedi Temple before it's razing and conversion, he reminisced on the events that brought him power and a seat at the Imperial Ruling Council.

He had been the son of a relatively affluent merchant family. Not wealthy enough to be on the radar of the galaxy's big shakers and movers, true, but still rich enough to be free from most of life's wants and worries…

Well, except one.

As rich as his father was, and as convincing as his mother could be, they still could not be free of the clutches of the loathsome Pyke Syndicate. One day, his father had made a snide remark about the Pykes. Nothing malicious, mind you, but Orom Pyke did not take kindly to any form of dissent from his merchants. He ordered his thugs to make an example out of his parents…and a brutal example they made.

That was when the then-young Malleus' life changed, and when he discovered the power of the Dark Side of the Force that dwelt within him. It was raw, untamed, but it had served his purposes well enough when he singlehandedly ravaged Orom's headquarters and stuck the heads of Orom, his mistress, his brother, and his bastards all on spikes outside the wall of his complex. He let the galaxy know that day that he always paid his debts.

And, fortunately for him, Lord Vader and the Emperor had noticed, as well.

Sure, the training under the Sith and the old Grand Inquisitor was harsh, brutal, but that was the way of nature. The strong and adaptable survive, while the weak and stupid perish.

Over the years, he had climbed the ranks and successfully hunted many Jedi. Not as many as Lord Vader or the Grand Inquisitor, mind you, but certainly, more than the rest of the Inquisition had hunted.

When the old Grand Inquisitor had fallen, slain in battle against the Jedi Kanan Jarrus, a power struggle had ensued in his wake. Unlike several other Inquisitors, particularly the Fifth Brother and Seventh Sister, who barreled head-first right into failure after failure, Malleus had bidden his time and played the others off against one another, giving out false leads, and luring others to their deaths, be it at his own hands or the hands of some lowlife crime lord. At the end of the day, he was the only one left standing who could take the title of Grand Inquisitor. The others who remained? Too weak and stupid to really try to gain power or maintain it, or too unambitious to ever seek power, merely content in hunting Jedi or other dangerous enemies of the Empire.

And it was well enough, he supposed. Anyone lesser than him would have been killed months, if not years ago, trying to play the deadly political game that was Imperial court life. He considered himself well-suited to it, though. If he had to be honest, he even enjoyed it, perhaps more so than hunting some poor fool of a Jedi.

As he gazed out the window, he felt a familiar, dark presence behind him, one that reminded him of the cold void. He didn't need to hear the labored, mechanical breathing to know who it was.

He turned and bowed before his master. "My lord," he greeted Darth Vader, who stood there, regarding Malleus silently for a moment before speaking.

"Grand Inquisitor," he rumbled in that baritone and robotic voice of his. "How was your mission to Ord Mantell? Has the threat been taken care of?"

"It went perfectly," he said. "My target was neutralized, and the cult's presence there was significantly reduced," he amended, proudly but not boastfully.

All along the Outer Rim worlds, a cult had been popping up. At first, the Emperor had regarded this cult as a mere annoyance in comparison to the much larger problem of the Rebellion, or, as that traitor and self-styled leader of the Rebellion- Mon Mothma- was calling now, "the Alliance to Restore the Republic." However, this cult had grown, festering like cancer across the outer regions and starting to seep into the interior, as well.

Usually, this wouldn't have been a problem. The Emperor allowed a multitude of religions within his Empire if they pay him proper respect or homage and didn't go around revering the Jedi. Religion was, after all, a useful tool for ensuring a compliant and orderly people. This cult, however, was preaching something alarming.

They were preaching the end of the world. Preaching that the Emperor represented the pervasive corruption and decadence that had become rampant in this galaxy, and that the massacres, purges, and wars were a sign from whatever they worshipped that it was displeased with the galaxy, and so was coming forth to smite the wicked in some glorious and terrible Day of Reckoning. Not to mention that they had been apparently abducting the odd child here and there.

Deep within the recesses of his mind, away from the prying touches of his master or the Emperor, he wondered if these cultists knew about the terror that was unleashed in the Unknown Regions.

What _he_ had unleashed.

He cleared his head of such thoughts. Of course, they wouldn't know. No one in the galaxy save for himself, Sloane and her fleet, and those in the highest circles of power knew of his mishap in the Unknown Regions, and right now he preferred to keep it that way. He hoped that Admiral Sloane had the situation well in hand; Thrawn was usually praising her abilities, after all. Elsewise, Lord Vader was going to start questioning his ability to lead the Inquisitors, and he knew just how short a temper the Dark Lord had when it came to failure. He had already been choked out to the point of near-unconsciousness when he had reported his failure to Lord Vader- he had absolutely no intention of going through that… _wonderful_ experience again.

"Significantly reduced is _not_ destroyed," Vader warned him sharply. "I do not need to remind you, Grand Inquisitor, that you are treading on thin ice with the Emperor and I, especially regarding your abysmal failure with Project Blackwing. Should you fail at your task, again, I will be seeking your replacement."

Malleus held back his tongue. He hadn't been expecting praise for his service, true enough, but he was tempted, oh _so_ tempted to remind the Sith Lord of his own failure to kill or capture Jarrus and his apprentice, or his inability to track down that meddlesome Grey Wolf. He hid the thought behind several mental shields, however. Vader would sense his anger, true enough, but he would be damned if he sensed his insubordination.

"I will keep that in mind, my lord," he instead elected to say, keeping his voice neutral, "and rest assured, I will not fail so utterly, again."

Vader said nothing in response, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving a parting shot as he went. "The audience is to begin, soon. I do not expect you to tarry. The Emperor does not share my sense of leniency, after all."

It was Malleus' turn to say nothing in response, just instead electing to nod and turn back to viewing the city outside, his mind churning on several things…

* * *

He had forgotten how dull court audiences could be.

Ever since the Emperor had gotten rid of many of his major enemies and potential rivals, such as the upstart Moff Trachta from years earlier, things had gotten progressively boring for Malleus, although he couldn't deny that everything was, bar the Rebellion, far more stable than it had been before. The galaxy was, by and large, united in fear of Sheev Palpatine, after all, and if you had ever truly met the man, one would see why clearly.

Now, Vader could be many things. Cold, ruthless, unforgiving, and goal-oriented to the point of single-mindedness, yes, but he was rarely interested in killing for pleasure's sake. Palpatine, on the other hand…

Palpatine was supremely wise and powerful, true, but he was also completely sadistic. Maniacal, even. He viewed most men as mere playthings, and himself as a god- the master of all fate and destiny. Indeed, many men who displeased the Emperor were either killed in the most horrific and violent of ways or tortured past the point of insanity, usually for Palpatine's twisted amusement…or his unparalleled rage. It was a small wonder, then, why most men tried to stay on the Emperor's good side.

Currently, he found himself standing in one of the galleys that lined the throne room on either side, along with the rest of the various nobles, commanders, key senators, and bureaucrats that made up Coruscant's ruling elite. On a raised platform at the end of the audience chamber that hung over a hundred-meter-deep pit, before a window that reminded one of a spider's web, the Emperor's throne sat. However, unlike the thrones in his private residences, which were simple, rotating chairs, this one was far different.

This throne had been inspired by one that Malleus had found on that wasteland of a world in Wild Space, the one Admiral Sloane had informed him was called "Valaryos". But instead of iron swords, this throne had been made up out of the hilts of Jedi lightsabers- hundreds of them, all melted and bent into shape to forge a throne worthy of an Emperor.

It was also the Emperor's least favorite throne, or so it seemed. He always seemed uncomfortable sitting on the damned thing. If Malleus had to guess, whoever designed the original must have had a lesson in mind if he made it uncomfortable and damned near dangerous- though as to what that lesson was, he couldn't figure it out. At any rate, the comfortability of the seat paled in comparison to what it represented; power and domination, in their most stark reminders.

He brought himself out of his mind's wanderings and paid attention to the audience. As of now, a man representing the Hapan Consortium was congratulating Palpatine on his eighty-third birthday, wishing him a long life and all that happy nerf-shit. Groveling and scrapping from others bored Malleus, as it did the Emperor, who looked utterly unpleased with his malevolent glare. The hapless Hapan took his cue and promptly bolted after a hurried bow, unwilling to wither further under Palpatine's scrutinizing gaze.

And so, the docket went on. From senators begging for His Majesty to support their pet bill- to which Palpatine always gave the vaguest, yet most pleasing sounding answers, if only to crush their hopes later- to awards for military service members who performed worthily in the eyes of the Empire. It was over an hour of this when Malleus finally felt it…a presence in the Force.

No, not merely a _presence_ …

A _surge._

It was apparent that the Emperor and Lord Vader sensed this, as well, as they both suddenly looked towards the massive, reinforced doors, which promptly swung open with a gusto.

Out of these doors stepped a stranger, one who was obviously not summoned to court. This stranger was old… _very_ old. An elderly human, to be more specific. His wrinkled, pale face was covered by a long, hoary beard, and the hair on top of his head was white and long. His eyes, wrinkled by crow's feet and bags, blazed bright, sapphire blue. On the top of his head was an old, worn traveler's hat, which was as grey as the cloak he wore. In his wizened left hand, he carried a cane of some sort, though from this distance it looked almost like a spear.

And, though Malleus saw no bird fly into the palace chambers, he swore that he could hear in his head the distinct call of a raven.

Whatever the case may be, the old man, or whatever he was, certainly seemed powerful. As a matter of fact, his presence threatened to blot out that of even the Emperor's, as grey and murky as this being's Force signature was.

The crowd watched this old man with silence, as he approached the throne in a purposeful, steady gait, all the while the eyes of the Emperor, Lord Vader, and the Royal Guard never left him.

At the foot of the stairs, he stopped, and looked around, as if he was remembering something, or someone…seemingly from a long time ago.

"And who might you be, interloper?" Palpatine spoke, breaking the pregnant silence, clearly incensed that his court audience was so rudely interrupted.

The stranger said nothing, instead choosing to continue to look around, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in. When he spoke, he did not bother to address Palpatine by his proper titles and homages.

"It has been a long time since I've been in this place," he elected to say instead, choosing to ignore Palpatine's question entirely. "A long time, indeed. When I was last here, this was still the Jedi Temple, and I remember a young Padawan training in the very spot you now sit. He was a small thing, green and ugly. Many thought he wouldn't amount to much, but I knew better. Truly, he became one of the wisest and most powerful of the Jedi Order." He sighed, and his countenance became weary. "Ah, Coruscant. This galactic and eternal city," he began to say, as he started to pace around. "This glorious monument to power, culture, and learning," he turned to Palpatine fully, his face now growing full of contempt. "This planet has built a civilization beyond imagining. The pinnacle of mortal achievement and the envy of the galaxy. But under you…this civilization will not last." He pointed his cane at Palpatine, who Malleus felt grow more and more wroth with every passing second. "You have taken the power of the Senate from the many and given it to yourself. You, who sits this new Iron Throne, has grown sick with every kind of wickedness. You are filled with greed, deceit, bloodlust, and contempt. You enslave what you can and destroy without mercy what you cannot. You have betrayed those who have called you friend and murdered those you claim to have loved. You have done all of this…for what? Power? Greed? Your fear of death? Your corruption spreads throughout the galaxy like fetid cancer, poisoning the righteous and condemning the innocent. You set men against each other for your ego." He slammed his cane on the ground. "Once, I was content to see it all play out, just as I have done for nearly four hundred generations, but now…now you and your minions have forced my hand." It was at this moment that Malleus felt that contemptuous gaze upon him, and he felt a tingling chill up his spine as he addressed him. "You have unleashed an evil that will destroy everything in this galaxy if left unchecked, _your grace_ ," the stranger spat, turning his attention back to the Emperor.

Palpatine abruptly stood up, his rage now unbridled, and his yellow eyes seethed with unholy fury. "Impudent fool!" the Emperor snarled, "Who do you think you're talking to? I am the master of this galaxy! All in this universe belongs to me! You will pay the price for your lack of respect!" Malleus saw the energy spring forth from Palpatine's fingers, as the Sith Lord screamed at the intruder. "Die!"

Brilliant, blue bolts of lightning flew from the Emperor's hands, as the room echoed with the loud roar of thunder. The stranger, however, calmly stood and waited, and when the lightning reached him, he did nothing…

He didn't have to.

The lightning hit some sort of invisible barrier or black hole, being absorbed into the immediate space before the stranger who had closed his eyes. It was immediately apparent to Malleus what this being was doing.

And it was apparent to the Emperor as well.

The stranger had completely negated the Force lighting, without so much as lifting his hand.

When the lightning had died down, and everyone in the room- the Emperor and Lord Vader included- looked at the stranger in shock, the old man opened his eyes, now set in determination, and when he spoke, he spoke quietly and briefly, though it was apparent to Malleus that there was a cold undertone to it.

"My turn," was all he said, and all he did was tap his cane.

Immediately, the sound of bones cracking and snapping filled the entire room at ones, as dozens of stormtroopers and royal guards suddenly fell over, their necks twisted completely backward.

The throne room was quiet for a brief, few seconds, before all hell broke loose, as generals and senators all made a mad scramble for the doors, running and screaming as they did so, trying to get away from the now-apparent demon.

Soon, it was just the old man, the Emperor, Lord Vader, a few remaining guards who had been left unharmed, somehow, and Malleus, who was now feeling from the Emperor a very distinct emotion- one that he had never felt before coming from Palpatine.

 _Fear._

Malleus hid his surprise, putting up so many mental shields he lost count, although, at this moment, he wasn't even sure he really needed to. Sheev Palpatine, the Emperor of the Galaxy and the Dark Lord of the Sith secretly known as Darth Sidious was completely and utterly terrified of this strange being.

No one could find their voice for several long moments, and when they did, Palpatine was the first to speak, in the quietest voice that Malleus had ever heard from him.

"Who are you?" The Emperor asked.

The old man regarded him for a moment, then shrugged and finally answered his original question. "Here is what I am called. I am known as Harbinger, Herald, and Raven. I am Alpha and Omega. I am known to some as the Father, to others as Sofios, and still, to others, I am known as the Middling. I am the Grey Maybe, the one who walks in the twilight. I have as many names as there are stars, as many titles as there are ways to die. I am the Lord of Dusk and Dawn. I am what once was, what is now, and what shall be. But above all…I am… _ **Bendu**_!"

At this, the room darkened, and his voice echoed like thunder, as a cacophony of ravens sounded from seemingly nowhere.

"And you, Palpatine…may you know this," the old man warned. His voice was deep and rumbling, like stones cascading over a mountainside. "The day of reckoning is soon at hand. By the wolves of the north shall you be humbled, by the son of suns shall your pride be shattered, and by the edge of the water shall you be cast down. May your diseased Empire be torn to splinters, may all the blood you spilled drown you in its torrents, and may the Scourge of the Force punish you for your sins."

With that, the old man- Bendu- tapped his cane, and vanished in a flash of blinding light and smoke, never to be seen again by Malleus.

Everything fell quiet yet again in the empty throne room, and although Malleus didn't know what the other two were thinking, he was more than sure that they felt what he felt. He kept thinking about this as Palpatine recovered just long enough from his shock to assign Malleus to his mission- accompanying Vader to Arcadia for the big wedding, then heading off to meet their contact, there.

There was something destructive out there- something that was coming for the whole galaxy.

And the worst part?

Malleus knew exactly what it was.

* * *

Later that night, the Grand Inquisitor found himself in an uneasy sleep, having forgone his usual meditation sessions or training his fellow Inquisitors, as he was still shaken up by what happened in the throne room.

 _He dreamed a strange dream._

 _He found himself walking in a rolling plain of some sort, on a planet he did not know. It could be Lothal, it could be Dantooine…it could have been any number of places, but none of that really mattered now. What mattered was walking, and off in the distance, he spotted gathering storm clouds. It was what was closer than that, however, which piqued his true interest._

 _Before he stood a couple of lions. One was obviously old, as his black mane and red fur were greying, his teeth worn, and his claws, though still sharp, were not what they used to be. Opposing him was a much younger, healthier lion, with an orange mane and a shining yellow coat._

 _Malleus found himself staring in admiration as the two beasts went to war with one another._ This, right here, is the true nature of things _, he thought as the two lions went at it, and it immediately became clear from watching who was going to be the apparent victor. Stagnation is death, after all, and the old must give way to the new, the elder gives way to the younger._

 _The master gives way to the apprentice._

 _The older lion might have had more experience, more battle-hardened and vigilant, but even those traits have their limits, especially when those traits are not paired with vitality and strength._

 _Soon, the fight reached it's predicted the outcome. The younger lion, seizing an opening, went in for the kill, sinking its teeth deep into the neck of the elder. The death cries and throes of the old lion lasted but a moment, and then it was all over. The young lion stood over the body of its predecessor victorious. His yellow coat and orange mane stained with blood, symbols of his victory and power._

 _He let out a mighty roar as if asking the savannah who was worthy to challenge him. And, much to Malleus' shock, animals did come forth, from stags to wolves, bears, and even horses, to name a few. The lion readied itself for potential challengers, but surprisingly, none came. Instead, one by one, the animals started to bow, until all the beasts of the land and sea and the birds in the air paid homage to the lion, who turned to face the coming storm, which was getting larger, closer, and more violent._

 _It was then that Malleus heard it._

 _It was a song- carried softly on the breeze, being sung by a woman._

 _As he listened to the tune, which sounded both sad and proud in equal measure, he realized that he had heard this tune before. It was the same song that his mother had used to sing to him when he was little. It helped him get to sleep at night when he was afraid of monsters hiding in his closet or his bed, for that song told him that he had nothing to be afraid of._

 _It was the monsters that should be afraid of him._

 _For the longest time, though, he hadn't understood the true meaning of the lyrics. It wasn't until Rae Sloane had sent him a copy of that book she discovered that he fully understood._

 _He soon found himself singing along, softly at first, then gradually building pitch until he matched the woman._

" _And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere," he sang with the voice, "but now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear. Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall and not a soul to hear."_

And with that, Malleus, formerly known as Tyrek Lannister, woke up.

* * *

 **A/N: Done earlier than expected!**

 **Honestly, I was planning this reveal for much later, but the opportunity presented itself, and I didn't want to waste it. No relation to the Tyrek from A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **So, yeah. A descendant of House Lannister is alive and well in the galaxy. How will this affect the story going forward? Well, that's for me to know, and you to wait with baited breath to find out.**

 **Now, to why Palpatine was essentially slapped around like a ragdoll in this chapter? Well, for one, I wanted to showcase just how powerful Bran could be. What better way than to show off a fraction of that power than by humiliating and humbling the most arrogant and vile being in the galaxy?**

 **So, Malleus is meeting a contact on Arcadia? Could it be our favorite Bastard of Bolton? Is it someone else? Find out next time!**

 **Toddles!**


	34. Rau II

In every city, no matter how economically powerful or culturally enriched, there were always bad neighborhoods. One might call them slums, another would call them ghettos, still, another would call it a barrio, but at the end of the day, they were just different names for the same wretched hives of scum and villainy.

Lanopolis was no exception in that regard.

Although it was known far and wide as "The Golden City", Lanopolis was not free of its darker sides, in particular one section of the city known as the Blood Gulch, where even the vigilant and well-trained constables feared to tread, and it was here that Rau found himself alongside two of his companions, tucked away in an alcove in the Gulch's seediest cantina, the _Tipsy Twi'lek_.

Rau studied the patrons of the bar as he grimly tried to sip his tea, nearly spitting it out due to the…lackluster taste. So far, he hadn't observed anything out of the ordinary, really. At the end of the cantina was the main attraction; a strip platform where dancers gyrated and titillated for the surly customers, who whooped and hollered at the various ladies and men dancing for them, gladly forking over credits as they did so. At the other end, the bartender served his drinks and chatted it up with the patrons, all the while loud music blared over the stereo system; this flavor being the grunge version of rock that seemed to have taken quite a hold in the Outer Rim worlds, beginning to replace quenk jazz and all its variants as the mainstay of the restless and the rough.

"I'd nearly forgotten how bad the drinks were in this place," Theon muttered, prying Rau away from his musings. "It's like they don't even try to cover up the fact that this was made from reclaimed sewage water."

"At least the liquor is passable," Robb joked, all the while staring at his glass with a queer look in his eyes. "Forget anything about proper flavor, though. Sanitary, aye, but for this swill, I might as well get rubbing alcohol and drink that instead. More sanitary, as well."

"Aye," Rau affirmed. "The sooner we meet this contact, the sooner we can leave this wretched place…" He looked around the bar one more time. "You sure we can trust him?"

"He's a smuggler, a scoundrel, and a rogue," Theon replied, "but he's still a sight better than many of the fine gentlemen who make up this establishment's regular patronage. With this particular man…, I'd say trust but verify."

Rau only nodded. He had to admit, he didn't particularly like smugglers. They were, by and large, mostly cowards and vagabonds. Some may turn to smuggle to get by in a rough economy or home situation, true, but the clear majority of them saw it as a quick way to make a load of credits, even if it was a dangerous and dirty profession.

He hated the types they usually worked for more, though.

As the music shifted from grudge to the more classic rock of yesteryear, he noticed someone enter the cantina…someone who didn't look like they exactly belonged there.

Compared to the dirty, muted drabs of brown, tan, and rust most of the patrons were wearing, this person- a male Mirialan, by the look of it- was wearing nothing but a resplendent white robe.

No, not white he realized. It was the color of ice, rather. A rather pale blue, akin to periwinkle, it seemed.

The Mirialan's eyes seemed to match his choice of dress. Those depthless blue eyes seemed to scan everything and everything around him as if the stranger was judging the worth of every individual man and woman in that bar…and finding them wanting.

Without warning, the robed man stepped towards a clearing in the center, now almost every eye trained on this newcomer who stuck out like a sore thumb. The music, which had been blaring only a moment before, fell silent.

A moment of terse, anticipatory quiet passed over the bar, and then, in a calm, yet passionate, voice, the Mirialan began to speak.

"People of the Blood Gultch," he spoke, his accent bleeding heavily into the atmosphere. "I have come here with a dire warning. Heed my words, and you shall be saved from the coming storm. Refuse, and condemn yourselves to annihilation."

There were a few snickers at this, and much rolling of eyes around the crowd. A few threw a few insults at the man, who ignored them and continued.

"The signs of the coming wrath are already being filled as we speak!" he preached, raising his arms up into the air. "The Empire builds weapons of war, turning planets into little more than strip mines. Children and women are enslaved every day, exploited by the likes of foul beings such as the Hutts and Zygerrians, all the while the arrogant Arcadian royals turn a blind eye to the suffering of the oppressed. Corruption and vice seep through every corner of the galaxy. Men of Arcadia, you stand at the precipice. A choice is to be made! Salvation, or damnation! Turn away from your vile drinks, your sins of the flesh and your depravations of violence and control and submit! Submit to the words of the great Prophet! Join our Brotherhood of the Frost and embrace the teachings of the White Light! For nigh, brothers and sisters, nigh is the Time of Rifle and Cannon. Nigh is the Time of Discord and Strife. Nigh is _Télos Imerón_ , the Final Age!"

"Oi, why don't you 'final age' yer boyfriend, ya damned twink?" one of the patrons jeered.

"Creepy ass probably doesn't do men, I reckon. Bet he has a soft spot for lil' boys, though," another sneered. This got a laugh out of the crowd…well, most of them anyway. There were a few who approached the cultist, asking him eagerly if he truly meant what he said. These few men and women, Rau reckoned, were probably the most depressed and hopeless of the lot, eager to seek out anything, or anyone, who would promise them salvation from a wretched life, and take it at the first opportunity…

Even if it meant joining a restrictive cult.

The cultist just remained silent, nodding approvingly at his new, few prospects, then casting a baleful gaze at the rest of the patrons, before turning and leaving as silently as he came, his new followers towing along.

"That man was…disconcerting," Theon finally admitted, a moment after the music resumed playing.

"Agreed," Robb nodded, "it seems more and more of these cultists are popping up all over the place, from what I've heard. Strange thing is that a month ago, they were barely even noticeable. Now, from what Lund tells me, they've been increasing recruitment."

"I've also heard missing children cases have gone up in the past few months," Rau offered. "It's possible it's connected. Cultists kidnapping children is never a good thing."

"As unfortunate and disturbing as they may be, they are ultimately irrelevant to our goals," Robb reminded. "We must focus on the task at hand and wait for the contact."

Rau was inclined to agree, of course, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if there was something far more to these cultists than meets the eye. Something dark and sinister.

Something connected to the undead they encountered.

And from the looks on his comrades' faces, he had an inkling that they were fighting the same concerns.

Some time passed in silent observation, quietly sipping their mediocre drinks and watching and waiting for this contact to show up, as well as observing the patrons of this crowd. So far, Rau noted nothing peculiar, but he did notice a few roughs sporting a similar branding on their cloth or tattoo on some part of their body; a red 'X', with four dots on each endpoint, and one right below the point where the lines intersected.

Call it a hunch, but he got the feeling these guys were probably thugs in the employ of their main target.

And Theon noticed it as well.

"Robb," the Iron-Fist whispered, "those men-,"

"Yeah, I see them too, Theon," Robb whispered back, intent on keeping his voice down. "Ramsay's thugs…" he sighed. "Well, at least we know we're in the right place, but where in the bloody hell is that contact?"

Almost as if on cue, the door swung open, and into the cantina stepped a human man- a Corellian, by the looks of him- and his Wookiee companion. The former of the two looked to be in his late twenties, tall and sporting a rugged, devilish demeanor if the mischievous mirth sparkling in his hazel eyes was any indicator. His outfit suggested a hard life of smuggling and many close calls, consisting of military-grade trousers and boots, a white shirt, and black vest. There was a scar on the man's chin, indicating that he had been involved in more than a few close calls.

A dangerous man to be sure.

The later of the duo- the Wookiee- was a bit different. Rau always had trouble reading in-humanoid facial expressions, but from what he saw, the Wookiee was a good deal more vigilant than the human and judging by the way he carried himself and the bowcaster he carried, a veteran of quite a few battles.

The duo looked around the bar for a moment, then settled their eyes on the trio in the alcove and walked towards them. The man came to sit down by Rau, while the Wookiee elected to sit right by Theon.

"Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon," the man introduced himself, as Rau cringed at this man's complete lack of caution or subtlety. "The big furball is my friend and co-pilot, Chewbacca. I take it you three are my contacts, then?" he asked.

"You're quite right," Robb answered for the group. "I'm Grey-Wolf, the man with the mechanical hands is Iron-Fist, and our Mandalorian counterpart is the Protector," he said, far more cautious than this 'Han Solo' at using their real names.

"Mandalorian, huh," Han said, eyeing Rau with a new-found suspension. "Ran into a certain Mando bounty hunter multiple times. I've got no reason to do that again. Gotta ask, though, why are y'all not using your real names? Afraid of this crowd 'round here, are ya?"

"Not necessarily," Theon replied, "but we are concerned about the one who's hiring them. He's a particularly sadistic madman responsible for the recent killings on this planet, and we have reason to believe that he's going to target the Crown Prince, next."

"So, you want me to help wrangle up this killer?" Han snorted. "Sorry, but I ain't in the business of sticking my nose into politics, especially where the Old Boar and his ilk are concerned."

"No, we aren't requesting your help in that matter," Robb retorted the self-absorbed smuggler. "We just need information on this guy and any new gangs operating in the area. For starters, the gang with the red 'X' tattooed and burned on them."

Chewbacca roared something in Shirywook that Rau didn't quite understand. Fortunately for them, however, it seemed that Solo could.

"Yes, yes, I know we had a contract with those guys," Solo shot back to his friend, who just countered with more gargles, to which Han threw up his hands. "Yeah, Jabba and Xizor are scummy, as well. Are you forgetting we can't be choosy in this business? We ain't exactly honorable ourselves."

Chewbacca just snorted and mumbled something, and Solo sighed.

"Alright, you big furball. We'll tell 'em, but right after that, we're out of here. I don't particularly like the guy who leads them," he said, pointing his thumb to where the gang was congregating. "Gives me the creeps, that bastard."

"What can you tell us about them?" Theon asked.

"Not that much," Han said. "They call themselves 'the Red Flayers'. Nastiest group I've ever dealt with, and that's saying something."

"What are they up to?" Rau pressed.

"Nothing outside the norm, from my humble perspective. I've smuggled in weapons and cash to them from time to time. Arcadia's got a great fleet and defensive system, but there are always holes in every net, and even someone as all-seeing as the Old Boar has his blind spots," he bragged, much to the annoyance of the group.

"Don't particularly care about your damned smuggling exploits," Robb snapped. "All I want to know is if the leader of this gang is who we think it is, and where we might find him."

"Yeah…the leader", Han repeated. "Nasty piece of work, that guy. He ain't motivated by money or power, like some of the other criminals I've worked with over the years. Nah, he's driven by bloodthirst, of all things. He calls himself 'Lord Ramsay Bolton'. I'd call him 'karked in the head'. As to where to find him…well, even I don't know that. He likes to move around, never keeps to one location for too long."

"I can vouch for that 'bloodthirsty' bit," Theon muttered, "and the fact that he's smuggling in weapons and cash is interesting." He nodded to Solo. "Thanks for the information, friend."

"Eh, whatever," Solo blew off. "The only reason I'm doing this is that I'm getting money, and I expect to be paid."

"You'll get your money, smuggler," Robb replied, handing the man a handful of credit chips. Han just smirked and got up, beckoning his Wookiee friend to join him, as the latter offered the trio a respectful nod before getting up, as well.

Before the smuggling duo could leave, however, they soon found their way out blocked. Apparently, the Red Flayers had taken note of them.

"Where you are going, Solo?" asked a man whom Rau presumed was the local leader- a short, squat, and ugly man who had Ramsay's mark branded on his face, making it more twisted and deformed than what it was, previously.

"Squat!" Solo greeted, trying to smooth his way out of his now sticky situation, all the while Rau noticed his hand straying towards the blaster on his hip, as the gangsters surrounded Han and Chewbacca. "Just the guy I wanted to see!"

"Betcha did," Squat spat. "We've to a bone to pick with you, Corellian. That last shipment of flash grenades you brought us was kriffing faulty. Nearly botched our last operation. Boss wants a word with you on that."

"How was I supposed to know that shipment was karked?" Han protested. "It's not my fault that BlasTech's quality control went down over the years. You can think the Empire for that one."

"Boss can't reach either BlesTech's CEO or the Emperor, you little wanker," Squat sneered, "but he sure as the hells can reach you…." He paused, and considered his options, adopting a wide, knowing grin. "Come with us quietly, and our boss might be lenient with you when he makes an example. Resist, and I guarantee he's going to take his time making you watch as he turns your walking carpet into a new coat."

It was at this, Theon suddenly got up and walked to where Squat was standing, and Robb and Fenn immediately decided to follow suit, intent on keeping their friend alive.

He could already tell that this was going to go _bad_.

Squat, in all his dimwitted glory, sized the thinner and taller Theon up and down and snorting when he looked him in the eye. "Don't know you, metal hands, but if you know what's good for you, then I'd advise ya to piss off! This is Flayer business!"

"I well understand that," Theon flatly said, in a voice so cold and empty that could rival even Robb's. "I also understand what Ramsay's 'mercy' entails. So, my friend, I'm going to give you a choice. Leave here now, and we'll all go our separate ways. Refuse-,"

"- lemme freaking guess, you'll kill us?" Squat laughed, spittle flying all over Theon's face. "What a load of kriffing nerfshit! Did you get shot out of you're mom's cunt sideways or something? We're the kriffing Red Flayers, freak! We kriffing own the Blood Gultch, and soon the entire Outer Rim's gonna know who we are! So, you either hand us over Solo and his furry, or we'll freaking kill you, you little bitch!"

Theon sighed. "Damn," he said, "and here I thought we could resolve this peacefully."

And with that, Theon began to seem to walk away, only to turn around and drive his cybernetic fist straight into Squat's horrid face, shattering his nose and teeth on impact and sending the gangster reeling into a table.

And just like that, the situation turned from tense to chaotic.

Quicker than the eye could reasonably process, Fenn, Theon, Robb, and Solo all had their blasters drawn and blazing, while Chewbacca roared, grabbing one Flayer and throwing him into another, sending both tumbling through the air until both hit a wall with a sickening crunch.

Soon, the air was filled with blaster fire and smoke, as the remaining patrons took either took cover or got the kark out of the building.

Fenn, aided by his years of Mandalorian training and combat experience, was in his element. Time seemed to slow for him, as the adrenaline kicked in and he could see things more clearly. He engaged the target nearest to him, putting two precise rounds through his chest and one through his head, moving to cover and engaging the next hostile even before the body of his first kill had the time to drop dead. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Robb and Theon move and work as a team, covering each other as they each racked up kills. Similarly, it went for Solo and Chewbacca, as the latter would send larger groups of thugs staggering with a blast from his bowcaster, while the former would engage them in some good old-fashioned Corellian gunplay.

The fight seemed to drag on, as the thugs just kept on coming, and in the middle of it, Fenn had to reload power-packs.

This was the opportunity that the largest thug was waiting for.

Without warning, the brute dove over the flipped table Fenn was using for cover and tackled the last Protector to the ground, and soon Fenn found himself trying to fight off a berserker armed with a combat knife, whilst trying to maintain control of his own weapon.

He weighed his options, as he continually tried to dodge and block the crazed brute's knife attacks. He was on the ground so that automatically put the attacker at an early advantage. The man was much larger than him, so that ruled out overpowering the guy. That also ruled out a protracted fight. In a nanosecond, he realized there was only one option left to him, and he took it.

He grabbed his blaster, and, while the berserker was getting ready for another thrust, jammed the still hot barrel into the brute's left eye.

The brute screamed in bloody pain, dropping his knife as he tried to dislodge the barrel from his eye socket, which besides squishing his eye had also broken his orbital in several places upon impact. This was the opening that Fenn needed.

Grabbing his concealed dagger, he unsheathed it, and in one swift motion, stabbed the brute in the jugular.

The berserker immediately stopped screaming, falling off Fenn and holding one hand on the still-lodged blaster, the other on the gaping neck wound, trying to ineffectually stem the bleeding as he gurgled.

Staggering to his feet, Fenn checked himself over for any wounds. Satisfied that he found none, he immediately dislodged his blaster from the now-dead brutes eye, albeit with some effort, before turning back into the fight…

…only to thankfully find that his friends had won it, with most of the gangsters lying dead, and the bar a complete, war-torn wreck, with the traumatized bartender muttering for them to "get the fuck out of his place" repeatedly, his place of business now trashed.

A groan coming from one of the tables brought them to the present, and as Solo and Chewbacca took this as their cue and fled out of the bar, Fenn, Theon, and Robb walked over to where the moaning was coming from.

There, slouched over a broken chair, was Squat, blood pouring out his broken nose and onto his shirt.

"K-kark," he muttered out, spitting out blood in the process, "you bastards…you're tougher than I thought. Not even the constables have the stones to mess with us. Heh. Ramsay's going to have fun with you lot."

"I bet he is," Theon said in a flat tone, grabbing the man by his shirt collar. "I need you to deliver a message for me, _sir_. I want you to tell your boss…that his Reek wants to see him. That I want to look him in the eyes one last time before I end him."

Squat guffawed. "And what makes you think he'll want to meet you, cocksucker?" he sneered, though Rau noticed beads of sweat were dripping down the gangster's head.

Theon held his gaze. "He'll make time for me. I'm sure of it," he replied evenly. He let go of the thug, and, after a moment of stumbling, Squat ran out the door, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

A moment of tense silence passed, a state of shock passing over the group like a wave. After a moment, Robb was the one who spoke first.

"Theon…" he began, "are you sure you want to do this? You said it yourself. Ramsay is an expert in laying traps. If we meet with him, we'll be walking knee deep into his friends."

Theon looked off into the distance, staring at exactly…what…Fenn could figure out. When he spoke, it was quiet…so quiet that they had to strain to hear him.

"I'm planning on it."

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, and welcome back! I know it's been a long two months!**

 ***shoves hungry gremlin back into the closet***

 **At any rate, sorry about the length of this chapter, as it's unusually short. Here, we are finally starting to introduce our Original Trilogy protagonist crew, starting with our favorite smuggling duo!**

 **I was inspired by John Wick for this fight scene. The cultist's dialogue was partially inspired by the monologue at the beginning of the Witcher 3.**

 **Now, who are these cultists? Why does Ramsay need all these weapons and cash? What is Theon's plan?**

 **All that and more will be revealed! *At some point…***

 **Till next time!**


	35. The Bastard of Bolton

**A/N: WARNING! This chapter deals with disturbing and unsettling content, such as torture, rape, and other gruesome things, all from the viewpoint of probably one of the most unsavory characters from Game of Thrones. Read at your own risk!**

* * *

If there was one thing that this galaxy truly was, it was absolutely _fun_.

Oh, sure, the initial shock of waking up in a different time and place after having been mauled to death by your own hounds was perturbing, but after it wore off, one discovered the multiple _opportunities_. The millions of inhabited worlds, all ripe to be his playground. The quadrillions of sentients, each one of them his to enjoy and play with as he saw fit. It certainly beat the cold, dreary, and sparsely populated North, to say the least.

He rubbed his hand over his now metallic jaw- a now permanent reminder of what he had suffered and where he had erred. He sneered as he thought back to the events of that day, all those years ago.

His plan was flawless, or so he had assumed. He used that bastard half-Stark's little wild brother as bait, killing the runt at the last instant. Initially, it had worked, as the bastard had charged toward him in an absolute fury, his army following right behind him. As a matter of fact, everything had indeed gone well right up until the moment his bitch of a wife showed up to relieve her brother and his surrounded army with about four thousand mounted Valemen- which had the effect of wiping out Ramsay's own army in the process.

He then touched the crook of his nose where it had been broken by Jon, and sighed. So much was going right that day, only for it to go so, so wrong. To make a long story short, he was beaten near to death by the bastard, only to be locked in a cell and then fed to his own starving hounds by Sansa.

He had been sure he was destined for more than one hell, given the nature of the sins he had committed and was almost sure he had ended up in some sort of afterlife after he had woken up in this galaxy, but after some "mental health restoration" and reconstructive surgery thanks to his new benefactors…

He was back. Just as fit, strong, and sharp as ever before, and ready to give this galaxy the party of a lifetime!

He turned to view his latest work, admiring it and savoring it. She had been a pretty young thing- a human girl in her twenties, with fiery red hair, eyes the color of grass, and fine porcelain skin dotted here and there by clumps of freckles.

He smiled, with his teeth giving off the impression of the grin of a shark. Unlike most of his prey, she had given him a good hunt. As a matter of fact, he would daresay that she had given him one of the best hunts of his live, eluding his newly acquired kath-hounds and even managing to kill a few of his men that he had decided to take with him.

But, alas, he always caught his prey in the end, and this pretty, young firebrand was no exception.

However, he had to reward her for her excellent skills in evasion and counter maneuvers, and so to that end, he choose not to flay her, nor would his hounds taste her flesh. Instead, he mercifully put her out of her misery after he had finished having his way with her on the spot where he caught her.

Death was a far preferable option to trauma, when all is said and done.

After that, he ordered his men to bring her corpse back to camp with them. He needed to properly prepare the body for her father, after all. He needed this man's wealth and resources, ultimately, and what better way to ensure loyalty than make an example of the kin of those who defied him?

In the end, people tended to get the message once they saw their children's flayed skin wrapped up for them in a gift.

As he surveyed the freshly flayed corpse, wondering if her meat and marrow would still be excellent for his loyal beasts, one of his men burst in through the flaps of his tent.

"Boss!" the Weequay squawked. "Squat's back from the capital! Say's the other boys ya sent with him are all dead, and there's three or five blokes who did the killin'!"

"Does he say how it happened?" he replied, already bored with how this was going. He was honestly unsurprised with the fact that these men he sent were slaughtered so easily, like cattle in a butcher's shop. These men who had signed on with him were mostly thugs, vermin. Stupid, weak creatures with the intelligence of worms, hardly worth the meager credits that were awarded to them for whatever subpar work they pulled off. And ultimately, they were expendable. The Blood Gulch was a dangerous place, obviously, and there were plenty more fools to chose from.

He had to suppress a sigh. His old band of killers, the Bastard's Boys…now, those were true, solid, dependable men, serving him with the shared goal of spilling blood and catching whatever wench they pleased, not out of fear or money. What he wouldn't give to trade twenty of these Crimson Flayers for just one of his old group. Things would be going much more smoothly, and he would be several more steps ahead of that fat old Gamorrean, instead of fleeing from place to place, only saved from the ineptitude of his gang thanks to the spy within the Arcadian ranks. His benefactors needed results, and Ramsay wasn't keen on returning to the grave just yet.

What his man said next, however, shocked him.

"Dunno all the details, boss, but he seems to indicate that there was five men who did the boys in. Three of 'em were working for the Old Boar, and two of 'em were that smuggling pair you wanted for questioning. The only name he heard out o' the three was 'Reek', and that he said he knew ya."

 _Reek_.

Ramsay's mind, at that moment, focused on that one word, to the exclusion of all else.

Now, that was a name he hadn't heard in a long time.

There were only two people who knew him that had been named 'Reek'. The first one was the closest thing to an actual friend he had ever known in his sordid life; a vile, wretched creature who made love to the corpses of the women he strangled. That Reek had been killed long ago, struck down by a Stark soldier on the orders of King Robb in a case of mistaken identity. The other Reek…

"Where is Squat, now?" he asked, a feeling of twisted mirth rising up in him. If it was who he suspected it was, then this galaxy had just gotten even more fun than it was already. He had to confirm it, though.

"Waiting for you at the edge of camp, boss," the Weequay said, his voice wary.

"Tell him to meet me at the center of camp," he instructed. "Oh, and bring in the rest of the captains, too. They need to hear what I'm about to tell them."

The Weequay gulped, obviously knowing what was coming. "Yes, milord. At once."

* * *

It was some time later when he made his way out to the middle of the camp. Already, the cool breeze of nthe ight was wafting through the trees that concealed his encampment from the prying eyes of MININT. Truly, this spy was an incredible resource, as the Palatia Forest was incredibly thick and difficult to navigate, rendering air and armor operations impossible and making any infantry assault or scout mission difficult. It was the perfect spot for a band of killers and mercenaries plotting nefarious schemes.

He found his chosen lieutenants- his "captains"- there in the middle, surrounding one very nervous-looking Squat, who was acting like he was ready to piss his breeches out of sheer terror.

Good.

"So, my loyal little minion," Ramsay began, putting on a crocodile's smile, "I hear that you ran into some trouble in Lanopolis. Lost all my men I sent with you. I'm curious as to how that happened. I mean, I've heard stories, of course. The messenger told me that you got your bloody arses kicked by five guys, two of whom you were supposed to capture and bring here so that I may entertain them! I mean, I needed a new bloody carpet! Have you seen the state of my tent? Absolutely abysmal, man!" he mocked. "Regardless, I'm sure those tales are untrue, and my men are just obviously jealous of your intrepid survival skills and combat prowess. So, I'm perfectly sure you're able to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why you seem to be the only one returning when I sent at least twenty of you out there."

Squat gulped, a loud and audible sound emanating from his throat. "Well…boss…I-I h-h-hate t-to s-s-s-s-s-say th-that they're….c-co-correct. Th-they fought with a skill I-I haven't seen before, s-si-sir."

"Curious," Ramsay falsely mused. "And, praytell, who were these three men."

"I…I don't know about th-the other two, but the one who gave me this broken nose was named 'Reek', sir," Squat stammered.

"Interesting. And what does this 'Reek' look like?" Ramsay asked. Finally, he was getting to the truth of the matter.

"He was thin, gaunt, milord," Squat spilled. "Silver hair and beard, with metal hands and cold, haunted eyes. He said he has a message for you. Wanted to meet with 'ya."

There it was.

The confirmation that he had been looking for.

Theon Greyjoy- his Reek- had returned.

He felt a sudden rush of elation. Oh, happy days have come at last! He was finally going to be reunited with his favorite plaything!

"My friend!" he greeted with genuine enthusiasm. "You have given me a great gift! You have brought my greatest accomplishment back to me! For that, I won't be flaying you or feeding you to the dogs, tonight!"

Squat breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the gods! Boss! Does…this mean I can get a rewa-?"

One well-placed shot to his forehead caused Squat to shut up, falling over dead as half of his head exploded into a fountain of burnt brain-matter, skin, blood, and pieces of skull.

Ramsay returned the still smoking blaster to his holster. He hadn't said that he wouldn't kill Squat. After all, failure had to be punished, and the men's loyalty had to be unquestioning.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between everyone, before Ramsay took a deep breath, and smiled.

"Ah, what a night, eh? My Reek is returning to me with some newfound friends, and Operation: Shatter-Shield is still going according to plan!" He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Gentlemen, find Reek and his friends! Tell them I will meet them a fortnight from now, at the abandoned munitions factory outside Akanai. Also, can someone please give our recently departed companion to the kath-hounds? I must make a call to our benefactors."

"On it, boss!" one of his men responded, and Ramsay turned to head back to his tent.

Along the way, he stopped at the kennel and smiled at the newest member of the hound pack. It was young, female, but with a fiery nature that made her a match for many of the old males. He made sure she was well-fed, of course. He had learned his lesson regarding the loyalty of dogs; he supposed he owed his bitch wife that much, at least.

Until tonight, she had been unnamed, but after his harrowing but successful hunt, this would no longer be the case.

He petted the fearsome she-beast, smiling as he did so. "Are you ready for the hunt, Artemisia?"

* * *

 **A/N: Like I said before, this guy is perhaps one of the most unsavory characters I've ever had the misfortune of coming across, and unfortunately, I had to write his viewpoint, as although GoT fans will understand just how loathsome and beyond redemption this guy is, Star Wars only fans don't, and the (unfortunate) best way I felt I could do that was letting you peer into the mind of madness.**

 **Now, don't worry. This is probably the only chapter I'm writing with him as the main POV and the only one that goes extensively into his activities.**

 **The next chapter will be either from Sabine's or Irene's POV and will cover more of the shadowy plot in the halls of Arcadian power. I want to illustrate just how out of their element both Bean and Ezra are in the field of intrigue, as they find that raiding and exfiltration missions are far different from deep, undercover espionage and Machiavellian scheming.**

 **As for why I was gone so long…well, let's just say that I had a romance that started well and ended badly, along with a worsening financial situation and a mental health crisis. But, I'm here again, and that's what counts.**

 **Till next time!**


	36. Sabine VI

They were chasing shadows.

Normally, when either Sabine or Ezra went on a mission, they generally knew what to expect. Whether it was an infiltration op, a salvage mission, or a commando raid, they could generally count on the fact that they had each other's backs, that Hera and Kanan and the rest of the Rebellion would support them, and- most importantly- they knew the foe they were facing, whether it was the Empire, the Mining Guild, or some unscrupulous criminal cartel.

Here, it was far, far different.

Now, granted, Sabine did have some experience with the field of espionage. It was covered briefly as a part of her training on SERE, after all, but her current mission was like nothing she had ever prepared for.

Here, in this pit of snakes, that everyone else called Lanopolis, she couldn't tell who was a friend or who was a foe, as nearly every courtier or another person of influence had a hidden agenda of some sort, speaking in half-truths through honey-laden silken tongues. Deceit and greed were in abundance here, and while the King and his family had honor in spades, it seemed that much of his court didn't share that honor.

And in her mind, Ignatius was probably the slimiest one of them all.

She shuddered when she thought of the King's younger brother. Unlike his elder brother, Ignatius was the very definition of an elitist. He was arrogant, boisterous, and apparently stupid, but there was something off about him. She didn't know why, but she felt that the middle-aged man had cunning and deviousness aplenty. A man like him wouldn't have lasted long in the Royal Court, otherwise.

She sighed inwardly as she got ready for the breakfast they were having with the council. There was another reason she felt out of her element-

The dolling up.

In order to blend in perfectly with their roles as a businessman and his wealthy spouse, Ezra and Sabine had to not just ditch their very names for the moment, but their very comfortable and familiar armor and weapons. Normally, Sabine wouldn't have had a problem with this. They had done infiltration missions before, after all. This, however…

This felt like she was going through a complete lifestyle change.

For one, she had to ditch her usual plethora of colors and settle for subdued, color muted attire- a woman's business dress, complete with all the get-ups. This wouldn't have bothered her that much if it weren't for one glaring factor-

She had to let the dye out of her hair again.

Ever since she had fled from Mandalorian space, she had always tried to keep her hair bright and colorful. More accurately, she had begun doing it a short while after she was accepted into Hera's crew. Firstly, it was a way of expressing rebellion against the Empire, at least for her. Those totalitarian _auretii_ were fond of standardization and total conformity in all aspects, right on down to what the civilians in Sundari could wear or what they were permitted to eat. The excuse, as always, was that it would promote greater cultural and economic unity throughout the Empire. The reality, on the other hand, told a different story altogether- it was just another way for Palpatine and his minions like Clan Saxon to control the populace through fear and intimidation.

Secondly, it was a way for her to bury her past and her connections to her family. A relic from a time when she wanted nothing to do with the family who disowned her as a traitor and an oathbreaker. Back then, before she had even set foot on the _Ghost_ , she honestly considered dropping her surname altogether- the dislike for her mother was that intense, back then.

She was admittedly bitter and withdrawn, back in those dark days, when Ursa had disowned her and later Ketsu abandoned her. For some very valid and justifiable reasons, yes, but as she reflected on it more and more after her catharsis with the Darksaber and her confession to Ezra, she realized that, in more ways than one, her and Robb were similar.

Both had suffered betrayal of people they had considered family or close allies. Both had become shut off, hateful, broken wrecks of the people they once were, and both of them received unmitigated love and support from Hera and Kanan, reforging them from broken iron into true steel. And both of them had finally found a home and family in the _Ghost_.

Her thoughts then turned dark. The Saxons. Traitors to everyone they once claimed to fight for. They were the very definition of _dar'manda_ \- men without honor or soul. When the Emperor offered Gar and his kin the opportunity to become their vassal rulers, they jumped on it, abandoning Maul as their liege. Those craven snakes proudly flew the Imperial cog along with their serpent banners on Mandalore and nearly everywhere else their foul influence seeped into, crushing the spirit of her people with the Empire's industry and signature ruthlessness…

Aided by the weapon she designed.

She shook herself out of that thought. No, she had destroyed the _Duchess_. She made sure it was demolished when she and Ketsu fled the Academy. And she had to resolve herself not to give into those self-loathing and bitter thoughts ever again. She would return home, correct her errors, and lead her people to victory over the Saxons, and once that was done, she'd hand over the Darksaber to someone who was truly worthy of claiming the throne, and then she would go and rejoin the Rebellion.

She sighed, running through her hands through her natural brown hair. Ezra had complimented her once when she had done this before, back when she infiltrated Skystrike Academy to rescue Wedge and Hobbie. Back then, she had brushed off the compliment. Now, it brought to her a feeling of warmth and contentment.

As she put on her business suit, she smiled, giving herself a look over in the mirror in the fresher. Maybe one day, when this war was over and they had won, they could find somewhere to settle down. She did not have the foggiest of where, though. More than likely, Ezra would want to choose Lothal, and she had to admit the thought attracted her. The people were peaceful, quiet, and unambitious, and the world itself held a beauty many worlds in Mandalorian Space unfortunately no longer possessed, thanks to the centuries of various wars of succession for the title of _Mand'alor_ and the throne.

They'd discuss it once they had the time, though. Right now, she had to get focused on the mission at hand.

She heard a knock on the 'fresher door.

"Bean? You ready to go? Breakfast is in fifteen minutes, and we can't afford to be late. Not like we were last time," Ezra's familiar voice came reverberating through the door.

"Yeah. I'll be right out," she answered. She gave herself one last look over, and satisfied with what she saw, she turned and opened the door, to see Ezra standing a few feet behind.

Her boyfriend had gotten ready before she did, and instead of his usual bright clothes, he instead wore a naval blue business suit with a white undershirt and black dress shoes. And that wasn't the only thing different about him- asides from his cybernetic left limbs, that is.

Ever since he had woken it up, it seems that he had taken a fancy to grow out a beard. Officially, it was so he could be as incognito on this world as he possibly could. Unofficially, however, he seemed more and more to be subconsciously mirroring Kanan, and not just in mentality or spirituality, either.

His hair, which was close-cropped weeks before, had begun to grow out again, and Sabine would be honest in saying that she'd love to run her fingers through his hair if it ever grew long enough. She was doubly surprised when he said that he was thinking about putting it in a half-up like so many Jedi before he had done if they had long hair.

Underneath her fantasying about running her hands through his long hair and his beard tickling her when they kissed, she wondered if there was something else going on with his change in disposition.

True, his mind was focused on the mission at hand, but Sabine could pick up on a slightly worried tone to her lover's voice that she never heard before. It seemed ever since they've encountered those…creatures…on Valaryos, Ezra's mind had been focusing less and less on the threat of the Empire and more and more on whatever was out there in the Unknown Regions. It also seemed that the things out there frightened Robb and Theon, as well, and not just because those creatures murdered one of her dearest friends and comrades.

 _Maybe because they can raise the dead,_ she started to mentally reason, _or maybe it's because there's a far more serious reason why they're afraid of those things._

Whatever the reason, it was clear that they were terrified.

"Ready to go, Lady Nymeria?" he asked, mockingly using the codename they had come up for her?

She did a mock curtesy, honed by her years of training on Krownest. "Of course, Lord Edric," she teased back using his codename. "Let us not keep his grace waiting any further."

* * *

She started to wonder if all the king and his councilors could talk about at breakfast was politics.

"Brother, if I may," Ignatius began to say, after cleaning his mouth with a napkin, "the wedding between your son and Theodora will be the most important event this kingdom had ever seen. We need to make it a spectacle that will last a lifetime!"

Immediately, the finance minister and the uncle to Alexios' betrothed, Belisarius, pounced on that.

"And with what coin would you be paying for such extravagances, my lord?" he questioned, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. "We've already stretched our budget thin just with the parade and the racing event meant to celebrate this, and all of this is even before the wedding takes place! Any more events or courses of food ordered and we're going to go into the red budget wise."

"Not to mention you'd be adding to the security costs," John added. "My constables and Peter's military police will be at their limit during these existing events as is. Adding any more spectacles will push our resources to the breaking point. Let alone the fact that you'd be increasing the chances of a security breach by an order of magnitude, if not more."

Ignatius just stared into his plate, grumbling unhappily about something. No doubt that the younger Beniko wanted to use it as an opportunity to flaunt his personal status and party it up with even more women than what he had already been planning…or so it seemed.

In the back of her mind, Sabine made careful note of his behavior. Certainly, he appeared dejected, but much of that could have been a carefully calculated ploy. For all she knew, he could very well be the agent feeding information to Ramsay.

He would certainly have a motive. With Alexios out of the way, Ignatius would be one step closer to securing his brother's throne upon his death. At the very least, he would play queenmaker to Irene, who did not share her brother's unyielding sense of justice and duty.

It was, at this moment, Moreena decided to speak up.

"Forgive me, my lords, but perhaps there is a way to come to a compromise?"

Sabine swore that it fell so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Here Mo was, not even a member of the council or even of noble blood, yet she was making suggestions to them like she was one of their own.

She supposed, though, she technically was, being the princess' most trusted friend and advisor, after all.

"I suppose we can hear out this proposal," the old king mused. "Very well, lady Moreena. You may speak."

Moreena bowed her head at Lysandus and turned her attention to the council.

"My lord Belisarius, I understand your concerns about how much money we are spending on this wedding, and they are just, indeed. Certainly, if we add any more events, we will be heavily in debt and over-budget, which is something we cannot afford at the moment, not with our strained relations with the Hutts and the Empire an ever-present danger," she said, obviously trying to mollify him. "However," she continued, "that doesn't mean we cannot modify the events currently in place. We can surely find something to squeeze into one of the current events. Maybe some fireworks during the wedding feast?"

Belisarius stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm…perhaps. We do have some wiggle room in that department, and I'm certain some of the vendors in town would love to show off their best rocketry for the event. I believe that there's this old man downtown who brags about his latest invention, for example. 'The Dragon', I think he calls it…"

Ignatius beamed. "Then, it's settled, then!" he exclaimed before his elder brother could even make it official.

Duke Lund growled. "Funny, Ignatius. I never thought that you spoke in the king's name. One might be led to think that you are actually king, and we just prop up his grace for show and tell. But, as we both know that isn't true, then I suggest you let his grace make the decision."

The younger Beniko brother shot the old Gamorrean a dirty look. "You know as well as I, boar, that I had made no command. I believe that I was merely stating for the council our collective agreement. Lady Krai's plan has much merit, after all. Rest assured, though, my porcine friend, my brother is still the king, and the decision is ultimately up to him. I know my place in the hierarchy of things," he huffed with an air of finality, but Sabine also picked up something faint in his voice- a slight inflection at the end of the sentence. It was the kind of tone one would normally reserve for resentment or jealousy.

She made a note to herself that she'd have to keep more of an eye on him. So far, everyone was a suspect, even the venerable Lord Commander of the Exorsitoi, but Ignatius was definitely on the top of the list.

And judging by the way Ezra's mouth had curved downward into a slight frown, while his brows were beginning to scrunch up, she felt safe to say to herself that her boyfriend shared the same opinion of the man, if he didn't feel it even more strongly due to his natural connection to the Force.

"Regardless of our feelings on one another," the king interrupted the two bickering nobles, "Lady Krai's plan does indeed have merit, and it does have my approval. Now, if we can move on from the festivities, and go over who will be on the final guest list."

"I have it covered, your grace," the Chancellor and King Lysandus' left hand, Patricia Megara, offered. "Firstly, it appears Durga cannot attend, due to recent downturns with his businesses that need attention. In his place, Jabba is sending his son, Rotta."

"Thank the gods," John Pallas, the law minister, sighed.

"Why are we thanking the gods?" Ezra asked, before remembering his manners. "Forgive my interruption."

"Rotta is not like the other Hutts, Lord Edric," the king clarified for him, deliberately using Ezra's code name as to not arouse suspicion. "He seems keen on reform, and he disagrees with the more criminal practices that the other Hutts engage in regularly."

"From what my agents on Tatooine tell me, the relationship between Rotta and his father is pretty strained as a result of the former's more…progressive outlook," Lund added.

"All the better for us, I daresay," Alexios muttered. "If even one of those slugs was keen on doing away with the corruption and nepotism that plagues Nal Hutta like a disease, then maybe I can start tolerating their presence."

"One can only hope," Ignatius sighed. "I presume that I speak for all of us here when I say that it would mean a lot of our souls to no longer have to look the other way while slaves and narcotics flow openly throughout all of Hutt space."

Sabine felt tense. She had once gone undercover on a Zygerrian colony called Oon, posing as a newly acquired slave to a then haughty Zygerrian female known as MaDall. She detested the practice with her very being, and the fact that it was so common nowadays in the galaxy under Imperial rule just made her wish for Palpatine's fall all the sooner.

"To get back to the guest list," Patricia interrupted the musings, "we need to find or build accommodations for our dignitary from the Empire. In particular, a life support pod that can be used for extended periods by our guest."

Sabine quirked an eyebrow at that. "A life support pod? Why would this person need a life support pod?"

"Multiple injuries, from what I've heard, Lady Nymeria. The kind that would require one to wear a life-support suit for the rest of their days," Lund informed her, taking a whiff of his cigar.

Sabine felt a pit form in her stomach. She could think of only one Imperial so far who fit that description- a black-clad monster who nearly ended her life when they had escaped Lothal a few years ago. The one being she wished she would never run into again.

Unfortunately, it seemed, the _manda_ had a twisted sense of humor.

"I still maintain that it is a mistake to accept Lord Vader coming here as an honored guest," the patriarch of the Triarchy, Michael XVII, huffed, confirming Sabine's worst fears.

Before anyone could say anything else, however, a loud clang silenced the room completely, and everyone turned to Ezra's direction.

The young Jedi had gone as white as snow, the goblet he was drinking from now laying on the floor, the contents on his lap and on the marble tiling, his fingers now numbly twitching.

"Lord Edric," the king asked him, concern etched on his old features, "are you alright? You look as pale as stone right now."

Ezra nodded- numbly, it seemed to Sabine. "Yea…yeah. I…um…I just need a moment. Need to…uh…clean up this wine spill on my trousers, heh!" he stammered, before promptly getting out of his seat and nearly bolting out of the room altogether.

After a split second decision, Sabine decided to follow him, worried for Ezra.

She knew that Vader had once come within a hair's breadth of killing both Ezra and Kanan back on Lothal and that he was responsible for the death of Ahsoka, but she didn't know how badly the Dark Lord of the Sith had affected the young Jedi. He was usually more level-headed than this. She frowned as she stalked down the vast hallways. It seemed the mention of that _darjetti_ 's name had brought up memories of whatever happened on Malachor.

After searching for what seemed like hours, Sabine finally found him back in their room. He was sitting on the bed, slumped forward as he seemed to be staring at the ground. His visage was contorted as if he were caught in a storm of intense emotions. He said nothing as she entered the room, choosing to keep silent and sulk. One did not need to be a Force-sensitive to tell that the Lothalian was obviously in a foul mood.

In turn, she said nothing, instead choosing to sit by him. She figured that if he wanted to talk, he eventually would.

After a moment of waiting, she would finally get her unspoken desire.

"I never told you about what I saw," he began, his voice quiet, as if just speaking the memory was painful. In all likelihood, it still was. A hurt like that just didn't go away, she knew. Wounds heal, even the ones inflicted on the mind and soul, but they often left behind ugly scars.

Scars that everyone in the crew bore.

"Ez, you don't have to bring it up if you don't want to," she comforted him, as Runi and Storm came to be by their feet, sensing the distress in the room. She laid her hand on his lap, and he took it, gripping it firmly, but not roughly.

"That's the thing, Bean," he sighed. "I don't want to, but I have to. The only other one who knows what happened is Kanan. I need to tell you, though. You deserve to understand what happened, and why I was messing with that damned Holocron for half a year," he gulped, the pain of the memory etched on his face. "I'll start when Vader arrived. I had activated the holocron on the top of the temple…or, what we thought was a temple. It turns out the thing was a damned weapon, and Maul was planning on turning it on Coruscant."

" _Demagolka!_ " Sabine cursed. Of course, someone as insane as Maul would have tried to annihilate an entire planet in order to kill a few mortal enemies. Were all Sith this maniacal and depraved? "I'm so glad that scumbag is dead."

"Wouldn't say glad," Ezra admitted, "but I can't say that I'll miss him. Anyway, back to my story," he sighed. "After I had activated the temple, I ran to warn Kanan of Maul's treachery, only to be stopped by Vader, who had arrived on his ship. The bastard wanted to know how I unlocked the temple, and when I wouldn't give him an answer, we engaged in a duel," he said, chuckling slightly. "Ok, maybe not really a duel. More like a few swings before he cut my lightsaber in half."

"So that's how your old saber was destroyed?" Sabine asked him.

Ezra nodded. "Yeah. He was about ready to cut me down, too, were it not for Ahsoka calling him out," he shook his head. "You should have seen it, Bean. I've never seen anyone fight the way those two fought. It wasn't a duel so much as it was a death match between two former friends. It was like Ahsoka knew the man, almost as if he was her own brother."

"But he stilled killed her?" Sabine asked though it was a hollow and rhetorical question

Ezra nodded. "Yeah. She told him that she wouldn't leave him again, and he just said 'then you will die'." He let go of her hand and stood up, pacing around before turning to face her, his eyes brimming with anger. "He was Ahsoka's friend, once, and he just attacked her like a rabid dog! What kind of a monster do you have to be to strike down the ones who loved you with no regret or remorse? To butcher them like a nerf?"

Sabine shook her head. "I don't think any of us can ever understand what goes through the minds of evil people, Ez. Asides, you shouldn't blame yourself for Ahsoka's death."

Ezra hung his head. "I know. It's…infuriating, is all. Why didn't Lund or the others tell us that Vader was coming here? He'll sense me from a mile away, and blow our damned cover!"

"Because state secrets are not meant to be freely shared. Not even among those in the king's circle," came the reply of a familiar, gruff voice.

Ezra and Sabine both turned to find the Gamorrean intelligence minister standing there with a cigar in his mouth, his arms crossed and regarding them with an inscrutable look.

"Would have been nice to know," Sabine muttered, "that we're now in danger of sinking this whole karking operation because the Empire's top Jedi hunter was invited to the prince's wedding? Why would you invite a person like him?"

"Truthfully, we didn't. We didn't even consider inviting the Empire here, but those lying cocksuckers invited themselves, and to make matters worse, they sent the Emperor's mad dog as a dignitary. We had to accept, though. Couldn't afford to snub those pompous little pricks from Coruscant, now, could we? The same pricks who are great friends with our allies, the damned Hutts, if I might add."

"Sounds like you've got no love for either of them," Sabine observed dryly.

Lund grunted. "You're an observant one, aren't you? Aye, it's true. The Hutts have never truly respected our sovereignty. Every time they make a deal with a faction or declare for one side or another, we're always the ones fighting their wars for them, or gathering intelligence on their enemies for them so scumbag bounty hunters can swoop in and claim all the credit for our blood and toil. The Hutts reap the rewards, we pay the toll," he seethed, as he clenched his fist, "and this is to say nothing of what they personally cost me and my dear friend, decades ago."

Sabine was intrigued. "You mind filling us in on what that is?"

Lund shook his head. "A tale for another time. In the meantime, we'll figure out a way to mask your presence from that Sith Lord. The last thing we need right now is the king's operatives and a guest from the Empire trying to slaughter each other on a neutral planet, after all. If there's one thing we take seriously on Arcadia, it's our guarantee that no guest shall come to harm under our protection," he said. He then made as if to turn to leave, but then stopped and reached for something in his pocket. "Oh, by the way, the king wanted me to give you this datapad. Knowing myself, I checked it over twice to make sure it didn't contain any hidden files, bugs, or what have you. Don't know what for, though. Just seems to be some useless information about the nature of runes and spells."

He walked over and gave the pad to Sabine, then turned back and walked out the door.

She hefted the pad in her hands, feeling it's weight. She frowned. Why would the king want to give them this? Information about runes and spells wouldn't help them in their mission to find whoever was supplying Ramsay Bolton with information and supplies.

She turned the pad on. Immediately, the screen came to life. Sure enough, it looked like it was a book on the nature of magical runes like the kind ancients or cults used, but something was off about it…

She decided to click on the screen, and immediately she was greeted by a 'password' screen:

 _I am the sword in the darkness, the fire that burns against the cold, and the light that brings the dawn. Answer:_

She frowned. Great, a damned riddle, just what they needed right now. She racked her brain, trying to think of different possibilities.

The sun? No, too obvious.

Star? No, wouldn't fit into old myths and legends, like this line was suggesting.

"Ez, take a look at this, will you?" she finally huffed. "Thing's going to drive me nuts."

"Yeah, sure," was his reply. He took a moment to look it over, his face scrunching in concentration before it lit up in clarity.

"I got it!" he exclaimed. "I think it's 'Lightbringer!'"

She eyed her boyfriend with a queer look. "Lightbringer? Are you absolutely positive about that?"

"Sure I'm sure, Bean!" he confidently boasted. "Think about it. The answer to a riddle is usually hidden in the passage. I just combined two of the words out of the sentence."

She nodded, warily. "Alright, then here goes nothing," she said as she took back the pad. She typed in Ezra's suggested password into the answer box, and immediately, the pad responded in the affirmative.

And this was when she got quite the shock.

For what was hiding behind the security measure was not a book on obscure rune-lore, but financial information. Transactions. Dealings.

From the king's own counsel to the smallest bank on the planet, every monetary dealing, major and minor, seemed to be listed in this little datapad.

This…this was it. This was the big break that they might have been waiting for.

She smirked. Finally, it seemed like things might be looking up for them, and that they would actually catch this damned turncoat.

All the while, though, she couldn't shake the feeling that things were going to get a hell of a lot more complicated before they completed their mission.

She just hoped that it wouldn't require any more bloodshed.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to my first chapter this year!**

 **Well, it looks like Sabine and Ez are getting a little assistance from the king (and maybe Duke Lund) in trying to find whoever is supplying Ramsay. Will they succeed, or will they uncover something even deeper and darker?**

 **In the beginning part of this chapter, I wanted to cover Sabine's reasonings why she chooses to dye her hair or color her armor. I stand to reason it was originally because she wanted to both distance herself from her past and to rub it in the nose of the authoritarian standardization of the Empire.**

 **It has also come to my attention that the last season of Game of Thrones, which airs this year in April, will be different from my own headcanon on how it ends. I will reiterate the point I made more than several chapters back- no matter how the main story ends, the events in this story will not change.**

 **Well, that's all for now. Until the next time! :D**


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